


betting warmth against the cold

by snoopypez



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Humor, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Misunderstandings, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21766576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/pseuds/snoopypez
Summary: Quentin Coldwater is raising his nephew Teddy, living with his best friend Julia, dreaming of magical lands, and has just lost his job. Teddy's getting into trouble for attention, Julia's helping the best she can, and Quentin's starting to lose hope--and then a mysterious visitor at the door invites them all to a place called Fillory, to spend the winter with Teddy's grandmother.Fillory turns out to not only be a literal world away, but has friends and family and perhaps--even romance. But soon he overhears something that makes him regret ever going. Now he just needs to find a way out so he can never set eyes or broken heart on Eliot Waugh again.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	betting warmth against the cold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [art for betting warmth against the cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830878) by [madman_with_a_warehouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madman_with_a_warehouse/pseuds/madman_with_a_warehouse). 



> The Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza, while stressful, was also so much fun, and I have never in my life written anything this long. I'm still sort of in shock that I managed to finish it at all, but here it is! 
> 
> Thank you to my artist for jumping in and helping almost last minute with lovely art! And thank you to Angelina, my grand and trusty beta, for being amazing and like. Helping me at all in the midst of your busy life. :D
> 
> Based on the movie A Princess For Christmas.

Once upon a time in a land called New Jersey, there lived a little boy named Quentin Coldwater, who dreamt of travelling to faraway places, where there was magic of every kind, literal and metaphorical; where there were found families and loneliness wasn’t such a familiar feeling and there was always enough time to read. 

But alas, not all tales can have happy endings. Quentin grew up, and he still has his dreams--unfortunately, he’s _also_ still in New Jersey.

At this very moment, he is in the small, local antique store where he works--mostly mending and fixing things, because he’s never been the best salesperson--daydreaming about going home and picking up where he left off in the Earthsea series. Maybe he’ll be able to get in a few chapters before passing out.

Or trying to, anyway. Insomnia isn’t exactly uncommon for him.

He’s just trying to finish up with an old novelty cookie jar, hoping the decorative crystal duck isn’t about to fall off again, when the door opens. As usual, he ignores it--he’s always happy to let James, his boss, take care of the customer service. But a sweet, soft voice catches his attention. Before he’s even fully aware of it, he’s rising and stepping to the counter, joining James.

The customer that came in is a little girl, no older than Quentin’s nephew, and she’s looking for a Hanukkah gift for her mother. Something about her makes Quentin suggest a set of mugs he spent the last month fixing up, his smile soft. They used to belong to his sister.

It’s a bit melancholy, seeing them go, but the little girl is so happy, and when she leaves the store, Quentin’s smile doesn’t fade for awhile.

Of course, it’s only been a good moment before James clears his throat and says they need to talk. 

“I’m really sorry, you have - no idea how sorry, but there’s just not enough money coming in.” To his credit, James _does_ seem extremely apologetic; it almost looks like he’s about to cry, which is...at least preventing _Quentin_ from doing so. 

It’s a close thing, though, because--what is he going to do? How is he going to manage rent and raising a child, and it’s _December_ ; how is he supposed to make sure Christmas isn’t the worst? Embarrassingly, he actually says all of this out loud, then tries to bargain for keeping his job but just having fewer hours.

James says, with even more regret, that he may need to close the store completely.

So. 

Quentin heads home. 

He’s in a daze the whole way, nearly getting his messenger bag caught on someone’s mailbox, tripping over a fallen garbage can. By the time he’s letting himself into his apartment, all he wants is his book and a hot drink--or maybe just to complain to his best friend.

So naturally, when he opens his front door, he’s greeted with:

“--oh, there he is now! Come on, you can explain what you did, let’s go.”

Immediately, Quentin wants to turn and leave again. He leans against the now-shut door, allowing himself to cringe before his face can actually be seen, then pastes on a curious smile just before the others step into view. 

Julia, his live-in-best friend, does not look amused at all. She’s guiding Quentin’s nephew, Teddy, towards him, her eyes worried. When she sees him, her frown deepens a little, like she can tell he’s faking any happy feelings, but she keeps her focus on the eight-year-old in the room.

(“Eight and a half!” Teddy would gladly point out.)

“Guess what Teddy did today,” she says, nudging Teddy just a little to remind him to speak up.

Honestly, Quentin doesn’t even want to know, but this whole parenting thing doesn’t give him a choice, so he asks, and waits.

Teddy mumbles something, trying to hide under the hood of his sweater. Julia clears her throat, which is somehow enough to make him repeat himself. “...I took something.”

Quentin looks to Julia.

“He stole a toy from Target.”

“ _What?_ ” He hasn’t even _set his bag down_ yet.

“One of those expensive video game toys. He got caught, of course, and they called me. Over the store’s _loud speaker,_ in front of everyone. He apologized, but _we_ know the right thing to do is to tell _you_ the truth.” Julia aims that last part at Teddy, so they must have had a fun conversation before Quentin got home. 

With a sigh, he decides to finally try to move past the entrance of the apartment, wanting to at least collapse on the couch. “Okay. Teddy. Why did you steal?”

Teddy’s nose scrunches up. “‘Cause I wanted it.”

Oh, well in that case.

“You can’t just take things because you want them,” Quentin says, wishing it weren’t true. 

“ _You_ said I wasn’t gonna get presents, I _heard_ you!”

Quentin and Julia exchange startled looks. They’ve definitely had discussions about money and not being able to afford a whole lot for Christmas this year, but they couldn’t have known Teddy overheard them. His eight-year-old memory may have twisted it a little, but it still makes Quentin feel shitty. 

“No, buddy, we didn’t mean--you’re gonna get stuff from Santa, remember?” 

Teddy scowls beneath his hood, eyes shiny. “David said Santa isn’t _real_ , and if Mommy and Dad were here _they’d_ buy me it so I had to get it myself ‘cause they’re _dead_!”

And he turns, running to his room. The door slams, and it might as well be a punch to the throat.

Quentin buries his face in his hands, feeling the couch sink as Julia sits next to him. Before she can say anything, he does: “I got fired.”

He obviously has to explain _that_ , and when he’s describing how James almost cried, there’s a knock on the front door. They both fall silent. 

“Did you order food?”

Julia shakes her head. Quentin sighs and drags his feet as he goes to see who on earth would be here at dinner time. At this rate, he’s expecting the landlord, ready to evict them. 

It’s not the landlord. 

It’s a man, older than Quentin, and dressed...not remotely normally for a New Jersey winter. Or for any winter in the _current century_. He has a huge customer service smile on his face.

“Hello, Mr. Coldwater, I am Tick Pickwick, steward of Ms. Evelyn Waugh, of Fillory.” He bows a little, and his tone matches the customer service thing impressively, which is honestly just throwing Quentin even more.

“Uh...hi? I don’t. I don’t know...who that is.” Is Quentin supposed to bow, too? 

The man’s smile falls for half a second. “...Theodore’s grandmother?”

Oh. _Oh_. Quentin’s fingers tense on the door handle. “Teddy’s never met his grandmother. She hasn’t wanted anything to do with him for years; what’s this about?”

“Ah, well--she would like to rectify those mistakes of the past. She’s inviting him--and you, of course--to stay at her home so she may get to know her grandson. For however long as you’d like.”

“Why--you know what? No. No thank you.” 

And now Tick’s smile freezes. He’s blinking a bit too much. “I. I’m sorry?”

Quentin’s trying to keep his voice down, and it just makes him sound angrier. “Her own son _died_ and she never called or sent Teddy any kind of letter or, or anything! I’ve barely even heard of her before now! Why would we ever _want_ to see her?”

It’s almost amusing, how Tick’s smile can look so much like a grimace at the same time. “My apologies, sir. I’m afraid that I cannot explain the inner-workings of her, ah, _mind_. However, as for the calls, you see, there aren’t any telephones in Fillory, so--”

“Wait, wait. What--what do you mean, there aren’t any _phones_? Where is this place?”

Tick Pickwick’s grimace-smile deepens. “Fillory, sir. It is--not of this Earth.”

Time seems to stop for a second, and Quentin very seriously contemplates yelling for Julia to call the police. He’s not sure if he’s in the middle of a very elaborate prank or if this guy is just someone he would’ve met during a past hospital stay, but after the day he’s had, he fully does not want to deal with it anymore. 

So he just sort of sighs and starts to shut the door--

\--but it doesn’t move. He frowns, looks to the other man’s feet, thinking they must be blocking it, but nope, nothing holding the door back. Quentin pokes it with a finger, and Tick apparently takes this as the perfect opportunity to keep talking.

“You see, sir, Fillory is on its own other planet, and you’ll be using magic to travel there--”

“ _Magic?_ ” The word cuts right through Quentin’s annoyance with the door. “What do--I, I can’t use magic, I don’t have magic, what are you...”

“Well no, of course not,” Tick reassures, not very reassuringly. “You’ll be sort of - piggybacking onto someone else’s magic; it’s really very simple.”

In what might be the stupidest decision of Quentin’s life, he steps aside to let Tick come through. “Okay, just. Get in here.” He leads the short way to the living space, makes a face at Julia, who is sitting on the couch and trying to look as though she hasn’t been eavesdropping the whole time. He gestures vaguely to a chair, offering Tick a seat and not arguing when the offer is politely declined. 

“Okay. Um. You know that magic...isn’t real, right?” It hurts something in Quentin’s chest to even say the words, makes him feel like he’s giving up on everything he’s always wished for. 

“Oh, no, it’s quite real,” Tick replies, ridiculous cheer returning with a vengeance. He leans forward a little, hands clasped behind his back, like he’s sharing secrets. Which he sort of is, maybe? “All of the Waughs have extremely powerful magic. Her--Ms. Waugh was kind enough to lend me some, to show you.”

Lend? That brings up a whole host of additional questions, but Quentin and Julia just stare as Tick does something clumsy and strange with his hands. He looks to be concentrating very hard, and eventually, a small flame appears at the tip of his finger. 

“Ah! There, you see-- _oh no_ \--” Tick blows on his hand, eyes wide, for a good moment. Then he rubs his fingers in the palm of his other hand, cringing a little, so the trick must’ve not felt very great. “I suppose that is why _they_ have the magic, not I.”

After another moment’s silence, wherein Quentin tries very hard to bury his hope, he says, “I’m pretty sure anyone could learn an illusion like that...”

Tick looks offended. “I also held the door! So you couldn’t shut it!” 

Now Quentin looks to Julia, who’s still mysteriously quiet. She shrugs, which seems like a pretty underwhelmed reaction to all of this, so Quentin turns back to the other man. God, he wants to believe so _badly._ Some part of him already does. He knows that if he keeps arguing, it will just be a last-ditch effort to seem normal.

“Okay,” he says, reluctantly. “Let’s say we believe you. Why would that change the fact that I don’t want to bring Teddy somewhere he’s--”

And speak of the devil: Teddy comes wandering out, rubbing his eyes the way he does when he’s tired but refusing to accept it. He stares at all of the adults in turn, settling on Tick, who beams at him like the creepy mural in Asbury Park.

“This must be Theodore!”

“Teddy,” says Teddy.

“Right, yes, I apologize. Teddy. I am Tick Pickwick--”

He’s cut off by a giggle. “That’s a weird name.”

Before things can get even more out of hand, Quentin says, “Teddy, Tick’s a, uh, friend? Employee? of your grandmother’s, remember how we talked about her before? He’s just...saying hi. Now come on, it’s your bedtime and you’re grounded, so--”

Teddy immediately tries to bargain out of _that_ , which is not happening, and Tick tries to argue that no, he’s there so that they can all go _visit_ his grandmother, who, by the way, lives on another planet, won’t that be fun? They all talk over each other for a minute or two, which is aggravating on many levels, and finally Quentin just stands up to start herding Tick towards the door. “This was. Great, but Teddy’s gotta sleep and I have to work in the morning, so...”

It’s not like _Tick_ knows that’s a lie, right?

“But I was told not to return to Whitespire without you!” That ever-present smile is fully gone, only because Tick is probably near the end of his rope. 

Quentin shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to move to New Jersey, then.”

“He can stay with us!” Teddy chimes in helpfully.

“No, no, he can’t; we have no more rooms,” Quentin says, so very near the door now. “So it was nice meeting you, but--”

“--She’s dying,” Tick says in a final, desperate rush.

As always, the mention of death is...complicated for Quentin. He stops walking, silently watches Tick in a hint for him to continue. 

“...It’s true. She didn’t want anyone to know, but she’s not well, Mr. Coldwater. She just wants to meet her grandchild and make amends.”

And Quentin--Quentin’s not _convinced_ , entirely, but he’s not heartless. If people know the end is coming, why _wouldn’t_ they want to make things better with those they’re leaving behind? He knows, possibly more intimately than he should, that he’d want it that way as well. 

So he heaves a sigh, continuing for the door, but slower this time. “I’ll think about it.”

And he does, once Tick finally leaves and Teddy’s sent back to bed. He sits, curled up on the couch and hugging his knees to his chest, and thinks about how his sister never got the chance to say goodbye. He thinks about how, most of his life, he just assumed he’d be gone far before her, and about how he missed his nephew’s birth because he was in the hospital for the third time. 

Then he thinks about how he can’t allow himself to spiral now, the way he’s been reminding himself every day for the past eleven months--because he has a child to take care of, to love and raise as his own. He can’t imagine how hard it would be without Julia, without finally finding a therapist that works for him. 

Right on cue, Julia plops onto the other end of the couch and greets him with, “so, magic is real.”

Quentin - laughs. It’s strained, possibly a little manic, but it’s a laugh. He and Julia grew up reading the same books; they’ve been dreaming about places just like Fillory for _decades_. His brother-in-law was _magic_ , apparently, and none of them ever knew. 

“I think you should go,” Julia says, calm and quiet. Quentin can’t help but look at her with hope, recognizing that he wants this but unable to allow it for himself. If _she_ approves, though, then maybe it’s okay. “Even if that side of the family sucks, I think it would be good. For Teddy. For you, too, to get away from...all of this, even just for a week or so.”

Quentin is so close to giving in, Julia really doesn’t need to work at it anymore, but she quirks a smile and adds, “plus, Q, it’s _magic_. It’s a whole magical _world_. You gotta do it.”

“Will you come, too?” 

“You say that like I wasn’t going to insist already,” she teases, nudging his leg with her foot. That’s the last piece Quentin needed.

They’re going to Fillory.

An hour, maybe two, goes by. Quentin and Julia sit in the dim light, hashing out their plans, as if they have any idea of what to expect. They don’t even know how they’re supposed to _get_ to this other world, because as far as Quentin knows, Newark Airport doesn’t have an interplanetary gate. 

There’s a noise from the direction of the front door, and Julia frowns. Her voice is almost theatrically hushed when she asks, “did you hear that?”

Quentin mirrors her expression, starts to say he definitely did, when someone he’s never seen before comes strolling into the room. 

“Knock knock, you people ready?” the man asks, sounding like he’s not at all interested in the actual answer. He seems unimpressed by his surroundings, which is a little rude, considering he apparently just _broke into the apartment_. 

Both Quentin and Julia leap to their feet; Julia falls into a karate stance, as if she’s ever taken a day of karate. Quentin can’t even find it in him to be afraid after everything the day has brought. He just exclaims, “how the hell did you get in here?! I would’ve--the door didn’t even open!”

The man rolls his eyes. He’s wearing a flimsy-looking scarf, and his shirt is almost halfway unbuttoned, which is--okay. “I Travelled. Didn’t Pickwick tell you I was coming?” At their blank looks, he actually groans, head tipping back to implore at the heavens. Or the ceiling, whichever. 

“Great. Look, all you need to know is that I can...teleport, I guess. So come on, let’s go.”

As exciting as it is to learn that teleportation is a thing, Quentin has to say, “but...we’re not ready! And we never actually _agreed_ to go!”

The guy stares at him, and Quentin gets the odd feeling that he can see straight through to Quentin’s thoughts. The truth must just be super clear on his face.

“Okay, so we’re going,” he adds with a shrug. “But it’s the middle of the night, and we, we haven’t packed, and--Teddy’s sleeping! I can’t just wake him up to drag him to another world.”

Julia nods next to him. “You’ll just have to come back in the morning.”

The man does not appear to be happy with that response, or really, any of their responses. “Are you kidding? I’m not a taxi service; I’m not just gonna come and go when you feel like it! This is a one-time offer, take it or leave it.”

And, well--how can they truly argue the point? They’ve decided to leap into this unknown world, and this guy sure seems like he’s not the type to bluff about this. In the end, Quentin’s shoulders slump and he says, “can you at least wait, like...twenty minutes for us to pack?”

Apparently that’s allowed, because the guy flops right into a chair and makes himself at home. 

It feels a lot like they’re leaving town under the cloak of darkness--which, technically, they literally _are_ , but it seems sort of...wrong and dramatic. The city’s asleep outside, and they’re in here, packing for unknown adventures. Quentin waits until the last moment before waking Teddy gently, carrying him in his arms to the center of their living space and asking the guy what his name is.

“Penny,” says Penny, sounding like this is the worst hassle of his life. “Now just...hold hands and all your crap.” 

It takes a moment longer than it should, until finally Penny sighs and grabs a couple of their things in one hand, then takes Julia’s free hand in the other. Before she can protest, they blink out of this existence and into another.

In front of a huge castle. Standing in the snow. 

Something they did not think to do: change into warmer clothing before leaving. So now Quentin is barefoot in two feet of snow, and Julia’s not much better off in her slipper-boots. Penny drops their hands and bags instantly and stomps off towards a group of people gathered outside the front entrance, who are all staring at them. Tick is with them, and he waves excitedly.

“Oh god, did you bring a jacket?” Quentin whispers, trying to ignore the rising levels of freak-out within him. 

“...I brought Teddy’s,” Julia replies, wincing and hugging herself in the cold.

Naturally, this is just when Teddy starts to wake up, confused and blurry. And probably freezing.

“Hey, buddy!” Julia says before he can get too deep into whining. “Remember the nice man, Tick, from earlier? We’re visiting your grandmother after all, isn’t that cool?”

Thank god for Julia. She tries to explain things to the sleepy child as Quentin drags his icicles masquerading as feet through the snow. A couple of the people in the waiting group have branched off, swooping in to grab their bags and take them into the castle. 

Which is indeed a _legitimate_ castle. 

Everything’s happened so fast, Quentin is pretty sure he’s just waiting for the panic attack to hit. He stares up at the building, its turrents seeming to rise into the clouds from where he stands, then he looks around, out towards the trees and pathways. His heart is pounding, and he almost misses the introductions of staff.

“--and I believe you’ve already met Mr. Adiyodi,” Tick Pickwick is saying, gesturing to Penny, when Quentin checks back in. Despite his anxiety, he rolls his eyes; _ob_ viously they’ve already met, how else would they be here right now?

“Ms. Alice Quinn--” There’s another over-the-top gesture towards a women with near-white blonde hair. The smile she gives them is small and tight-lipped, like she knows she needs to be welcoming and isn’t sure how. It’s a better attempt than Penny’s was, anyway. 

After the insincere cheer of Tick and the not-so-friendly faces of Penny and Alice, it’s a bit of a whiplash to see an honest, bubbly face. She doesn’t even let Tick introduce her, she just steps forward, waving brightly, and says, “hi! I’m Fen. I can help Teddy get settled in his room, and I’ll be happy to help you both in any way I can!”

Teddy smiles sleepily at her, which is a good sign, so Quentin doesn’t let himself get overwhelmed with Fen’s perkiness. He may not be able to keep that feeling away for long, though, especially when faced with another cheerful person immediately.

Benedict Pickwick smiles at them all as if he can hardly contain himself. He offers to draw them a map of the castle’s layout, which might actually come in handy, but the eagerness with which it’s offered is making Quentin feel like an imposter in this place.

Luckily, the last person they meet isn’t rude or cold, _or_ overly effusive. 

He has glasses and seems pretty chill, hand raised in a half-wave. “Hey. I’m Josh. Lemme know any food requests you got and I’ll blow your _minds_.” 

And that’s that. 

The lack of sleep is quickly catching up with them, and even though Teddy now seems ready to stay awake forever, it’s inevitable that he’ll be crash again soon, so: finding places to sleep. Julia asks Tick very nicely if they can get the fuck into the hopefully warm castle to take a nap, and he leads them inside.

The moment they step through the doorway, Quentin gasps. It’s darker inside than he would’ve assumed, but that doesn’t detract from the overall splendor. There are a lot of items that look like they’d be at home at the antique store, and the ceiling is--painted? tiled? he can’t quite tell--somehow both sparkling and understated at the same time. The chandeliers, however, are far less understated; _opulent_ would be a better description for those.

As they approach a spiraling staircase, Quentin finally speaks. “It’s beautiful...”

By the look in Julia’s eyes, she agrees, but she still says, very deliberately to both Teddy and Quentin, “it’s a _nightmare_. Kids, you can’t break anything here!”

Quentin snorts a laugh, then almost slips on the edge of a rug.

“That includes yourself, dummy.” 

With the size of the place, it’s a good handful of minutes before they actually reach their temporary bedrooms. They get to Teddy’s first, which is good because he’s definitely getting past the point of Too Heavy for Quentin’s poor arms. So down he goes, off to investigate the large space with some hesitance, glancing back at Quentin and Julia as if checking to make sure they’re still there.

Fen has already grabbed Teddy’s luggage and is starting to unpack its contents into the room’s dressers and closet. She asks questions like she sincerely wants to know the answers, and soon enough Teddy is showing her his favorite stuffed giraffe and talking about how much he hates carrots. 

It’s difficult, then, to convince Teddy that he should lie down for a few minutes, because he’s excited about a new friend and a new place, but Quentin and Julia do need to put their own stuff away. So they eventually let Fen handle the eight-(and a half)-year-old for a bit, and follow Alice down the hall.

Julia’s room is twice the size of Teddy’s, and she looks a little shell-shocked by it. Alice awkwardly asks if she wants any help unpacking, and of course Julia declines. She’ll be fine, and is definitely going to take a nap the second she’s alone in the room.

Finally, it’s just Alice and Quentin, down the hall a bit further. 

Quentin’s room is about the size of Julia’s, and he has no idea what to say once he’s in there. When he looks to Alice, both of them are tucking a strand of hair behind their respective ears, almost a mirror, and Quentin gives an awkward laugh. Alice does not.

“Are you...is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks instead, straightening her shoulders. She clearly wants to leave as much as Quentin would like to be alone, so he tries offering a smile.

“No, no, I’m fine. Um. Thank you.”

She nods, leaves without another word. 

And so Quentin finally has a chance to breathe in the quiet. Everything feels like a dream, from the moment Tick knocked on his door up to now. Maybe it actually _is_ a dream, brought on by Quentin’s stress about Teddy and work--it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember ever actually going to bed, right? 

Now seems like the right time to lie down, though. He tries to listen for Teddy, but the hall is so long he’s pretty sure there could be a riot next door and he’d miss it. His last desperate act of responsibility involves him heading to Teddy’s room, peeking in to see him passed out on the bed, and sighing with relief. _Now_ he can nap for himself.

Which he does, drifting off much faster than he expected, and his last conscious thought is to wonder if he’ll wake up here or at his apartment.

He’s still here. In Fillory. 

His nap lasted--he squints at a clock on the bedside table--a whole half an hour. Not nearly enough to make up for an entire night, but enough to breathe new life into him, at least for a while. With a yawn, he wonders what caused him to wake at all, as he’s still drowsy enough not to return to his earlier freak-out over this whole... _situation_. He decides he may as well unpack.

Obviously, the first things to come out of his bag are a number of fantasy books. He’s pretty sure they won’t be here long enough for him to read much, but whatever; he doesn’t feel _settled_ in a place without a few books nearby. This will help. 

Next comes his medication, to be shut in the bedside table drawer and hopefully not found by all the strangers running around the castle. Other toiletries get put away in random spots that make sense to his own mind and probably no one else’s, then finally he stuffs his clothes away and out of sight. 

Once again, he tries to listen for any noise he should be concerned about, then wanders around the room. He’s torn between the desire to look at every single little detail and the desire to not be annoyingly nosy, but he’s pretty sure the latter will win out in the end. Eyes still a little blurry, he ends up at a window, and--even if he wasn’t nosy at all, he’d have to at least check _that_ out, right?

His first thought is that the view is breathtaking. As far as he can see, there are trees, snow-capped mountains further beyond, and the sky is like, Instagram-filter-blue. When he looks downwards, closer to the building itself, there’s a little path heading into the forest, plants scattered around, all of it blanketed in white. There are a bunch of tiny footprints, hard to identify, but they mostly don’t look human.

Then he spots a movement by one of the trees, squints a little and leans forward until his nose hits the glass of the window. As he rubs it, the movement happens again, now very obviously belonging to a person. He’s not sure why someone would just be standing around outside in the December cold like that, and that clearly explains why he can’t really stop - _looking_. 

The man seems tall, even from Quentin’s higher vantage point, and he’s leaning against a tree with an ease that suggests he’s maybe practiced it a lot to be so comfortable. A gust of wind ruffles his curly hair in an almost absurdly cinematic way, and that’s even before he lazily lifts a cigarette to his lips, tilting his head back just a bit, as if savoring the moment and the taste. 

Okay, Quentin needs to step away.

So he does, shaking his head, and continues his snooping. There’s nothing in his room as interesting as the man outside, but he’s just. Not going to think about that. 

Then there’s a knock on his door, and it creaks open to reveal Julia’s smiling face; part of Quentin feels settled even more, just to see her. She comes in, and Fen is behind her. Quentin tenses a little again.

“Is--is Teddy okay?”

“Still sleeping,” Julia says, and then puts a hand on Fen’s arm for a second. “Fen’s going to show me around some more, you wanna come?” 

Apparently they’re already fast friends, which is, of course, just the way Julia’s life goes. Quentin smiles, but declines. “Nah, maybe later. I’m gonna check on Teddy; maybe, uh. Read a little.”

It’s predictable of him, but whatever. They shouldn’t let Teddy sleep much longer anyway, or he’ll never sleep through the night, so Quentin feels good about his choices. 

“All right, sir,” Fen starts, pleasant as ever. “Dinner will be in two hours, and - Ms. Waugh always starts exactly on time, so please don’t be late.”

She gives a brief description of where the dining hall is, Quentin hopes he won’t get lost, and then both women leave with friendly waves. He sits on the bed for a moment to decompress in the comfort of silence just a bit longer. He’s honestly not sure when he’ll manage to move past this stage of disbelief, but maybe he doesn’t fully _want_ to.

Maybe he _wants_ it all to feel unreal for awhile. 

After a minute or two, he gets up to change so he's not wearing--is it technically yesterday's, now?--clothes, then exits to go wake Teddy. 

Naturally, the moment he sets foot outside the door, he crashes right into someone.

 _And_ some _thing_ , because there’s a shattering sound that accompanies the sadly familiar-to-Quentin thump of two bodies walking into each other. That, more than anything, is what makes him immediately panic, because Julia _told him_ not to break anything and he’s barely been here an hour and what if he broke some kind of priceless heirloom? 

He’s already kneeling on the ground to pick up the shards of glass, apologizing about twenty times before a voice says, “it’s fine, there are hundreds of others in this place.”

Quentin glances up, recognizes the hair and overall body language of the man that was outside, and scrambles to stand up so fast he goes a little lightheaded. And holy shit, this guy really _is_ tall. 

And, okay, attractive. Like, unfairly so, and Quentin is kind of annoyed by it, actually. His hair looks even nicer close up, and his eyes are... _really_ pretty. And big. And he’s looking at Quentin like he expects a reply, so this meeting is going terrifically so far.

“Uh, still. Sorry. I didn’t--I didn’t mean to run...into you.” It comes out sounding more like a question, which is also annoying. He’s still holding on to broken glass.

“Really, it’s no problem.” The man sounds less like he’s trying to be reassuring and more like he just doesn’t find broken things a big deal. His eyes skim over Quentin, not at all subtly. “I’m Eliot.”

Instead of being a normal person and giving his own name in return, Quentin’s eyes go a little wide. “Oh! You’re the brother!”

Eliot’s expression tightens, nearly imperceptibly, and Quentin feels like an idiot. 

“Um. Uh, I’m--Quentin. Is my name.”

“The other brother,” Eliot replies, cool as anything. 

Once more, Quentin apologizes, and once more, Eliot waves it off--this time, literally, with a broken wine glass stem still in his hand. Somehow, Quentin manages to keep from apologizing for _that_ again. 

“I saw pictures of you,” is what he apparently chooses to blurt out instead, which is about fifty times worse. “From. You know, when you were...”

He makes a gesture with his hands, as if opening a photo album. All of the pictures in the album had been old, obviously taken before Eliot’s brother was mysteriously disowned by his family. He’d refused to talk about them the entire time Quentin had known him; the photo album hadn’t even come out until he and Quentin’s sister had been married a year. And now that Quentin thinks about it, the backgrounds of all those pictures _had_ always seemed vaguely...unfamiliar. Curiously old-fashioned. Lots of stone and trees.

Anyway. 

He looks up again to see that Eliot is staring back, a slight smirk on his face. “No wonder you didn’t recognize me immediately, then.”

Which--is fair. The younger Eliot of the pictures had been shorter, obviously, but also sort of chubby and with less _artfully_ -messy curls. Even the last of them, taken right before Quentin’s brother-in-law left Fillory for good, were apparently long ago enough that Eliot is half a different person.

Looks-wise, that is. Quentin doesn’t know anything about the kind of person he may be, but he’s not opposed to finding out.

Thankfully, he does not actually tell Eliot that yes, he is far prettier now. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Eliot gives a sigh that doesn’t sound sincere at all, and says, “well, Quentin, I must be going. I assume I’ll see you around; this place is far smaller than it seems.”

He brushes a piece of lint or - something, off of Quentin’s shoulder, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do to a stranger, and gives the same body-scanning look from a moment ago. He doesn’t actually wait for a reply, just brushes past to continue down the hall before calling back, “don’t cut yourself on that glass.”

For some reason, it brings heat to Quentin’s cheeks. 

Shaking it off, he’s always shaking things off. That’s what he does as he--well, first he throws away the glass, but then he goes to Teddy’s room, peeks in to find him already awake and curled up around his giraffe. He looks sadder than an eight-year-old in a magical land should ever be, and Quentin’s little rush over meeting Eliot drains away immediately. Sitting on the bed, he rubs Teddy’s back and says, “hey. You ready to meet your grandmother soon?”

Teddy gives a shrug that jostles his whole upper body. Then he asks, very quietly, “where are we?” 

Right. The whole magical land thing is not something Teddy’s even aware of yet. Quentin figures he can at least explain it better than Tick would, so he stretches out on the bed like he’s going to read Teddy a bedtime story. He doesn’t have a lot of information himself, but he does tell it like he might a story; emphasizing the excitement of _magic_ and meeting new family. Teddy has a few questions, and Quentin answers them the best he can, and he knows the kid’s feeling better when his last question is, “can I get a unicorn for Christmas?”

“...You can ask your grandmother.” God, he hopes unicorns aren’t real, now, because there’s no way their apartment will hold one. 

They just sort of laze around for awhile after that, until Quentin glances at the clock to see that they are officially two minutes late to dinner. They’ll be even later now, because Quentin has to hurry Teddy into clothes that aren’t pajamas, and then they promptly get lost trying to find the dining area. Just as Quentin had feared. 

“Quentin!” Oh, finally. Julia’s leaning out from under an arched doorway, waving him over somewhat impatiently. “Why are you running around? You’re late!”

Quentin gives her an unimpressed look, and she grins, already tugging him towards the table. “You got lost.”

He would say something, perhaps about that being so obvious she really didn’t have to _point it out_ , but he notices the other people around the long table and shuts right up. Eliot’s there at one end, looking bored but open to the possibility of being less bored now that something’s happening. At the other end is an older woman, gray hair wild and curly like her son’s in those childhood pictures, and she looks--

Well. She looks annoyed that they’re late, sure, but she also looks _healthy_. Nowhere near death’s door. And it’s not like Quentin is unfamiliar with the existence of invisible illness; he’s in that boat himself, but he really--he expected something other than this. And he’s not the best at social situations, which is possibly why he says, as he takes a seat, “are--are you okay to be down here with us?”

He might as well lean into the assholiness of that comment, so he glares at Tick. To Tick’s credit, he looks...well, he looks cringey, which is probably at least a little apologetic. “Oh, right, well you see, about her--Ms. Waugh’s illness...”

Evelyn Waugh looks at Quentin for a moment, then gives the fakest cough he’s ever heard--and he’s raising a small child. So that’s impressive.

The next person to speak isn’t her, or Tick, or Quentin, but Eliot, with a clear scoff. “They lied.”

Which, yes, obviously. Quentin would be more upset if he hadn’t accepted that this is really his life right now, so as long as nothing horrible happens at this dinner, the rest of the visit should be okay, right?

“Hi, Grandma!” Teddy’s lingering shyness from when he was three-fourths asleep seems to have vanished, because he’s going right up to Evelyn and saying, “I’m glad you’re not sick.”

“Teddy, do you want to sit by me?” Fen asks, evidently eager to make the situation less awkward. Teddy looks like he feels torn between the two women, but in the end he chooses the one he’s a bit more familiar with. He waves to Evelyn and then bounds over to sit by his new best friend. 

Evelyn looks between them all for a second, then says, regally, “well. It’s very nice to meet you, Teddy. I’m glad you’re here.” A beat passes, and then: “you too, Quentin.”

Another beat passes, and she looks at Julia, probably unsure why she’s even there, but adds, “you as well, Miss...”

“Julia. Thank you for letting us stay here; your home is gorgeous,” Julia says, and squeezes Quentin’s hand. Food gets brought out, which makes Quentin feel guilty, because they were obviously waiting for him to arrive, but it all smells pretty wonderful. He hasn’t eaten since his lunch break at work the day before, and he’s starving.

“So are you two together?” 

“ _Eliot_ ,” Fen scolds, and it takes a moment to realize that the question was aimed at him, but then Quentin is mirroring her same wide-eyed look to the other man.

“What? No, we--we’re just friends. Best friends, since, um, what, since first grade? It was first grade, right, when, when we...” He turns to Julia, seeking her opinion and memory bank.

She looks amused. “Q, breathe. They don’t need the whole backstory. But yes, it was first grade.” She pats his hand, then lets go.

Quentin’s just. Going to move right along. He points at Teddy across the table, then to Eliot. “Teddy, this, uh, that’s your uncle Eliot.”

He wonders, vaguely, how good Teddy is at seeing family resemblances, because Eliot looks quite a lot like Teddy’s father.

Hotter, though.

And _that_ is not something that needs to be thought of here, at this nice dinner. He tries to bring his focus back to the conversation around him, and shoves some of the first course into his mouth. He hopes there aren’t _too_ many courses. This is already awkward enough without having to linger for hours.

Teddy’s telling Eliot about his favorite foods--Eliot doesn’t look _overly_ bored, so that’s nice--when Benedict comes rushing in, carrying a platter of what looks like quail, maybe? 

“Here you are, your majesty--”

And-- _what?_

Tick makes an incredibly unsubtle sound, eyes looking slightly crazy as they stare at Benedict before cutting to Evelyn and then to Quentin. Benedict seems to understand after a delayed moment, and gasps. “Oh! I-I’m sorry, I mean--Ms. Waugh, I didn’t--”

“It’s all right, Benedict,” Evelyn interrupts, holding up a hand. “I suppose it was foolish to think we could keep it from them the whole time, anyway.”

“Um...keep..?” 

Quentin also gets interrupted, this time by Tick, who sounds thrilled to be able to be honest again. “ _Allow_ me to introduce her majesty, High King of Fillory, Evelyn Waugh.” 

It’s honestly a little overdramatic, considering they’ve already met and are all seated at the same table, but okay, it’s still surprising. Maybe it shouldn’t be, considering this place is a literal castle, but it’s just one more thing to add to the nonstop absurdity that is this day. Julia and Quentin exchange a look, not sure what to even say to this, and then Eliot scoffs loudly.

“Jesus, you’re all so dramatic.” That earns him looks from nearly everyone in the room, suggesting that perhaps that’s an ironic statement from him--which tracks, from Quentin’s observations so far. 

Teddy, at least, seems to enjoy the show of it all; he’s completely ignoring his food and staring with wide eyes, mouth dropped open. “Grandma, you’re a king??”

For the first time, Evelyn’s expression softens almost to a smile. “I am, dear.”

As Teddy rambles for a bit about how cool that is, Quentin leans over to Julia and whispers as subtly as possible, “I’m not the only one thinking this is _really_ weird, right?” She nods and pats his hand again. 

When he glances over to Eliot again, Eliot is ignoring everything and eating his dinner the way they all should be. Quentin decides to copy him for now, but once there’s silence again, he clears his throat and asks, a bit hesitantly, “so, Ms...your highness? I don’t mean to, uh, be rude, but... Why exactly did you invite us here _now_? Teddy’s almost nine; you could’ve...I mean, you could’ve--”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t have,” Evelyn says, regal even when she’s interrupting. “My other son made a very difficult decision a long time ago, and he knew what he was giving up. I mean no offence towards your sister, Quentin, but there are certain things the royal family must do, and one of those things is to continue the Waugh line of magicians. Falling in love with...someone without magic, not even _Fillorian_ , well--it’s not something we can condone.”

There’s a brief silence again, Quentin’s mind racing and tripping all over itself, but of course Julia can speak just fine. Her voice is disbelieving. “You...disowned your own son because he fell in love with someone from Earth?”

“He chose to leave and never spoke to us again,” Evelyn responds, unemotional. 

“That--that’s horrible! Didn’t you even care if he was _happy_? And Quentin’s sister was a _wonderful_ person; how dare you--”

“Julia.” It’s all Quentin says, quiet but firm. He’s looking at Teddy.

To her credit, Julia shuts up immediately, and grabs his hand again. If she could reach Teddy, she’d grab his too, probably. As it is, she tugs on Quentin’s hand until he looks at her, and she offers a tight smile before nodding towards the entrance. 

“Thank you for dinner. We’re all very tired, still, from getting no sleep last night,” she says pointedly. “So we’ll be going now.”

She wastes no time in dragging Quentin after her, around the table, and then also dragging Teddy. He’s being suspiciously quiet, and Quentin doesn’t blame him a bit. He _had_ just heard his cool new grandma talking shit about his dead parents; anyone would be a little lost in their head after that. 

It turns out to be worse than that, because when they try to coax Teddy into his pajamas and into bed, the poor kid explodes. Well, all right, it starts with a simple request: 

“Can I get a TV?”

Quentin’s a little taken aback, but he says, “honestly, buddy, I don’t know if they even have TV here,” because it’s true. That’s not the main point, however, and when Teddy asks again, a little whinier, Quentin reminds him, “even if there _is_ TV here, you can’t watch it. You’re grounded.”

“But it’s vacation!”

“But you still stole, and that wasn’t okay.”

And then Teddy throws his stuffed giraffe to the floor, all his almost-nine-year-old frustration overflowing into the words every non-parent always dreads to hear: “you’re not my dad! Go _away!_ ”

It’s not as though Quentin isn’t fully aware of that. It still stings, and--he goes away.

Julia’s right after him; he hears her telling Teddy they love him and to go to sleep. They make their way to her room to flop onto her huge bed, staring up at the ceiling, twin sighs escaping.

“What an asshole. Her royal highness, not Teddy.”

It’s the first thing Julia says to break the silence, and it makes Quentin snort. His laughter’s a bit manic, but if he doesn’t laugh, he might be forced to cry, and he just. Really doesn’t want that right now. Maybe crying would be healthier, but he’s never made the best choices for himself.

Apparently he and his sister shared that trait. 

After, Julia turns onto her side to catch his eye. “Do you think she knew and just...never told you or your dad?” 

There’s no answer at first. Then, all Quentin says, tone full of resigned amusement, is: “probably.” 

The next thing she asks is, of all things, “do you think we should do something about Christmas?”

Quentin turns his head to give her a confused look. She rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t you notice the nonexistence of any decorations around here? If they don’t have TVs, they probably don’t have Earth holidays, either.”

As calmly as she explains that, logical as ever, it does nothing to keep Quentin from bolting upright, hair in his face. “Oh my god, Jules, we’re _in another world!_ Teddy’s never gonna forgive us if Santa doesn’t find him here! We need--we need to do _some_ thing! Maybe, maybe we can decorate! Um, shit, do you think they have stores here? I gotta--I’m just gonna go ask if--you stay here, make sure he falls asleep, I’ll--”

And he’s jogging out of the room and downstairs before he even really thinks about it.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to track down the High King, but eventually Quentin finds himself outside a fancy-looking door, ready to knock. He doesn’t even care about being rude and interrupting a conversation, as he can hear her voice behind it--but then he hears Eliot’s as well, and suddenly he finds himself listening in.

No reason. Just...politeness after all. Obviously.

“--a mistake? After all of that, you already want them to _leave_?”

“I thought I could handle it, and I can’t. Teddy is just too much like...him.”

“So you didn’t think your grandson would remind you of your favorite son. You know, it’s not _his_ fault you’ve apparently forgotten how biology works.”

Despite everything, Quentin can’t help but smirk at that.

“Eliot Waugh, don’t you speak to me like that. Why did you even come here?”

There’s a pause. 

“Just because I’m only the heir by elimination doesn’t mean this isn’t still my home. Maybe I wanted to meet his kid, too; did you ever think of that? No, of course not.”

Okay, this is probably a less-than-ideal time to barge in. But Eliot sounds - upset, and now that Quentin knows Evelyn wants them to leave, he’s determined to _stay_ out of spite. 

Spite, and recognizing that this is still a pretty damn cool opportunity. 

So he opens the door without even knocking, tries to ignore the startled look on Eliot’s face, and says directly to Evelyn, “can I decorate for Christmas?”

Now they both look startled. 

“I know you probably don’t, um, you probably don’t really do holidays like that, but it’s kinda important back - on Earth. I think Teddy would really like it, you know? If we, uh. Made it look a little more like the stuff he knows. Lights, a tree, presents...” He trails off, his burst of confidence already melting away.

“I think that sounds perfect.” Eliot, of course, is the one to speak first, a note of challenge in his tone. Perhaps his own spite for his own reasons will help, here. “Don’t you, mother dearest? ‘Tis the season and all.”

Evelyn so very clearly wants to refuse. “What, may I ask, is Christmas.”

Quentin, when asked a question he knows he can answer in great detail, feels his mood lift. Grinning, he sinks into a chair and gets comfortable, resting the sole of one foot on the cushion and hugging his bent knee. “Okay, so there’s this place on Earth called Bethlehem, and...”

He manages to get through twenty minutes before Evelyn cuts him off. It would’ve been sooner, but when she tried, Eliot had turned to her and very seriously told her to let Quentin keep talking; it was _very_ fascinating stuff. Quentin was given permission to decorate a very small room of the castle, and then told to leave her alone. 

All in all, not too bad an ending to the day.

The wake-up call isn’t so great, though.

He hears--are those _horns_? Quentin lifts his head; squints against the light coming through the window, made brighter from the sun bouncing off the snow. For a second, he definitely doesn’t remember where he is, which he faces with far more calm than one might expect of him; it’s actually once he recalls Fillory and the night before when he jolts to wakefulness with a racing heart. 

Oh god, he’s in a world that probably shouldn’t exist. 

A world where there is a _really_ loud horn blowing right outside his window.

He rolls out of bed, hair all over the place, clothes rumpled from sleep, and stumbles to the window. Seriously, what the hell is going on out there?

As it turns out, there’s a crowd of people, all gathered on horseback and dressed in what apparently passes as Fillorian riding garb. Quentin’s a little stunned--it looks a lot like a fox hunt, from what cliche scenes and pictures he’s seen in movies and books. It always sounded needlessly cruel to him, so when he spots Eliot near the edge of the group, a spark of disappointment starts in his gut. 

Eliot is talking to a woman that holds herself just as regally as he does; they laugh together the way close friends would. Quentin watches them for a moment, which is clearly a mistake, because suddenly, both of them look up and right at his window.

If he had any social graces, he would smile and wave. Like a normal person. 

So, of course, he practically throws himself to the floor instead. 

He decides to just. Stay there a minute. 

The horns blow again, and the other sounds outside make it clear that the group has gone off into the forest. Quentin sighs. It’s probably safe to get up, so he manages that; even manages to become fully human with a shower. 

Teddy’s in a far better mood when _he_ wakes up, though there’s still a sadness there that hadn’t been earlier, and Julia looks like she got the best night of sleep in her life. Quentin and his ten yawns before breakfast feels like trash next to her, but that’s familiar and almost comforting, in a way.

“Okay, so. Fen told me there’s a pretty big market not too far from here,” Julia says, setting down her glass of juice. Of course she’s already acquired the information they need. “You wanna do some shopping, Teddy?”

He nods, looking a little nervous that he’ll be in trouble again for his outburst the night before, maybe, but Quentin says nothing about it. There isn’t much conversation at all, really, because all of them are catching up on the lack of food they’ve had--dinner, of course, hadn’t been the most filling, what with all the drama and betrayal.

They bundle up the best they can before venturing into the wilderness, and Quentin ends up with Julia wrapping one of her scarves around his ears. He mostly lets her do it just because he doesn’t care enough to argue, and it’s nice to see Teddy laughing, even if it’s _at him_. Besides, it _is_ pretty cold outside, and none of them are quite sure how much of a walk this actually is. 

As it turns out, it’s not long at all. They turn twice along the woodsy trail, and then the market is visible. Quentin unravels the scarf so that it’s just draped around his neck, Julia teasing him for his weak ego, and it occurs to him that they have no idea what kind of currency this place uses. 

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” is all Julia says to that, which of course makes Quentin worry immediately. 

The marketplace isn’t too crowded, but there are plenty of - Fillorians wandering around. The three of them sure stand out as outsiders, though, because the locals are all dressed, well--nothing like them. There’s nothing outrageous, but it all looks - old-fashioned in comparison, and also as if none of them really feel the cold. Quentin’s a little bitter about that part. 

They first come across a stall that has a lot of trinkets, pretty but perhaps not the best choice of gifts for an eight-year-old boy. Not that that stops Quentin from watching Teddy to see if he reacts to anything with any kind of interest. 

He doesn’t, but he still toys with something that looks like a gemstone attached to a delicately woven chain. Before either of the adults can warn him off, he tugs a bit too hard and the gem snaps right off. Clearly surprised, Teddy drops the whole thing, which means the gem shatters in half, the chain pooling into a tiny pile next to it.

Quentin rushes forward, immediately apologizing to the merchant. He wonders if there’s any glue around, or if there’s some other way to reattach the pieces together at least, and--oh god how are they going to pay for this? Still apologizing, Quentin cups the trinket in his hands like he’s ashamed to show what happened, but then forces himself to.

“...I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything wrong with it.” 

Quentin blinks, confused over the merchant’s confusion. He looks down at the necklace--

\--which is no longer broken. 

In _any_ way. The gemstone is in one solid piece, hooked right back onto the delicate chain. There are no scratches, no little woven bits unravelled. 

He turns to Julia. “You saw--”

“I saw,” she replies without hesitation. His relief is short-lived, because she clearly has no idea what happened, either. In the end, there’s nothing to be done except give the piece back and move on. Teddy apologizes, then asks Quentin how he fixed it.

“I didn’t! I just--picked it up and...”

“Wished it wasn’t broken?” Julia finishes pointedly, raises her eyebrows. 

“Well, yeah, but--come on. I doubt it works like that just ‘cause we’re in a place where magic apparently exists.” Surely someone would have told them, right? From what the others have said, it doesn’t sound like _everyone_ in Fillory has magic from just _existing_ here.

Teddy stoops to grab a stray stick off the ground and breaks it in half. “Hocus pocus! I command you to be put back together!”

Nothing happens, other than a couple of odd looks from those around them. Teddy pouts and tosses both sticks to the side. He’s distracted easily enough by a booth that’s selling honey, and promptly asks for a sample. Apparently that is happily allowed, so as he’s busy with that, Quentin and Julia talk.

Or rather, Julia talks and Quentin sighs a lot. 

“I _saw_ that necklace, Q. There’s no way we both imagined it broken. Just...just try again; what can it hurt?”

There are probably many things it can hurt, including but not limited to: it not working, which just means there will be something broken and impossible to fix; and also Quentin’s poor soul that is stubbornly clinging to _hope_. He doesn’t want to let any hope in, because there’s no way he somehow has had _magic_ his whole life without realizing it until this very moment. So if he tries something now, it won’t work and all the hope he’s determined to bury will somehow still manage to cause him pain.

Julia won’t let it go, though. At every stall they check out, she pokes at things they don’t buy, driving Quentin crazy with her own brand of stubbornness. She apparently has enough near a stall selling books-- _books_ , of all things!--and she grabs a hardcover neither of them have ever heard of. 

And she rips the cover right off.

Quentin will admit that the gasp he gives is, perhaps, a _bit_ more dramatic than the situation calls for, especially since the merchant just looks over and says, “so you’re buying that, yeah?” in a bored voice.

But he can’t help it! Mistreating books that aren’t part of their own well-loved collections is just uncalled for. He stomps over to snatch the book out of her hands, slaps the cover to the now-naked front, and hisses, “are you _insane_?!”

She must be, because she’s _beaming_. “Look at the book, Q.”

Before he even looks, he knows what happened. 

It’s fixed. One piece again, good as--well, not new, but as good as it was before Julia’s evil, sneaky hands got on it.

As he stares in disbelief, trying to shove down his hope, he hears Julia say cheerfully, “we’ll still take it.”

They continue their way through the market, but it’s sort of difficult to pay attention to anything when Quentin keeps staring at his own hands like sparks will fly from the fingers any second. Teddy’s quiet again, but otherwise seems fine, so they leave him to his thoughts. 

Near the edge of a cluster of stalls is a small forest of familiar looking evergreens. For a moment, they entertain the idea of chopping down their own and dragging it back to the castle, but a stern voice tells them not to dare. It takes them a moment of looking around to realize, dumbfounded, where the voice _comes_ from. So that—that’s a thing here. Talking trees. 

They end up with a few purchases, though Quentin’s still not sure how Julia managed to bargain down the prices so much, and they start to head back. Quentin pats Teddy on the shoulder, says. “don’t worry, buddy, we’ll find more stuff later.”

Teddy shakes his hand off, muttering, “why don’t you just _magic_ it all up?” and then runs ahead. The castle is in sight, so Quentin’s not too worried he’ll get lost, but it still sort of feels like he’s been kicked in the shin. 

Julia sighs; pats _Quentin_ on the shoulder now. “It’ll get better.”

That bit of cliched inspiration given, they start talking about how much they’re failing at the Christmas thing. Ideas get tossed around; they track Teddy down in the kitchen, where Josh is providing him with weirdly elaborate ice cream sundaes, which makes Quentin both hungry and apprehensive about what animals provides dairy here. 

He decides he needs a little recharging time. 

When he leaves his bedroom again a bit later, introvert-nature satisfied for the moment, he can’t seem to track Julia down anywhere. Fen and Benedict are with Teddy, and they look apologetic but clueless when he asks them about her. 

He’s wandering through the front hall when the door opens, and he has to fight the urge to hide like an intruder. And honestly, once he sees Eliot, that urge sort of doubles. 

“Quentin,” Eliot says in greeting, brushing off the last bits of snow clinging to his gloves. 

“Um. Hey.” Quentin glances toward the stairs, then somehow ends up asking sort of snippily, “how was the hunt?”

An elegant eyebrow quirks up, and Eliot replies, “it was pretty good. You sound...judgmental.”

“I mean—I’m just not, um. Not into killing animals for fun, I guess?” 

To Quentin’s surprise, Eliot shudders. “Oh, god no, neither am I. Especially when most of the animals here _talk_ to you. No, don’t you worry, young Quentin; our ‘hunts’ are merely lighthearted searches for a small Questing Creature. Whoever finds it first gets a wish granted, nothing big. Margo always wins.” 

Somehow he sounds both proud and - bitter? about that fact. 

Before Quentin can ask who Margo is—or just how young does Eliot think he _is_ —they enter a room and Eliot continues, “and there’s the victor now.”

The woman Eliot had been talking and laughing with earlier is sitting on an overstuffed couch, lounging in a way that makes her self-confidence obvious. Quentin can only assume this is Margo, though there’s another woman next to her, her hair in wild curls. Both of them are gorgeous. 

Much to Quentin’s surprise, Eliot grabs his wrist to lead him over to the others, letting go only to lower himself onto the couch between both women. He immediately puts an arm around the one radiating royalty and asks, “what has you so down, Bambi? Was today’s win not dramatic enough for you?”

She--Bambi? So is she _not_ Margo?--leans into Eliot’s side, her pout causing the other woman to roll her eyes. “My earring broke.”

Eliot legitimately gasps. “Not the--”

“Yes!” She sounds genuinely stricken, and holds up a hand. The earring is pretty, but it doesn’t look particularly special to Quentin. It’s broken on the bottom curve of a hoop, and his heart starts to thump. If the stuff at the market _wasn’t_ a fluke...

“C-can. Can I...see that? Um, just for a second?”

Suddenly there are three pairs of eyes on him, and he realizes he’s still standing awkwardly by the couch. He drops into an equally overstuffed chair.

“...Who the fuck are you?” 

Well, if nothing else, he’s managed to wipe the sadness from Bambi-Margo’s face. He’s not sure judgment is much better, but here it is.

“That’s Quentin,” Eliot says with surprising fondness, which stays when he continues, “Quentin, this is Margo. And Kady.”

Kady snorts and nods at Quentin in greeting.

“Okay,” Margo says with suspicion, which is uncalled for, honestly. “Why do you want my earring?”

“I just--I wanted to see...something.” 

After a moment where Quentin contemplates leaving the room in shame, and Margo probably contemplates his murder, she raises her chin. “Fine. But if you do _any_ thing I don’t like, I’m gonna shove a sheet-pan up your ass, got it? Those were my great-grandmother’s earrings.”

Quentin thinks about defending himself, but that seems like it would make nothing better, and possibly just makes things worse, so he stays silent and nods. He’s gentle as he holds both pieces of the jewelry in his hand, looking down at them intently. Deep breath. His eyes close, and he curls his fingers around the earring, tuning out Margo’s annoyed huff. 

God, he hopes this works.

It does. He opens his hand again, and the earring is in one piece, like it was never snapped in half. 

Burying the burst of pride within him, Quentin offers it back, allowing himself a little smile. 

“Holy shit,” Kady says, leaning forward. “He’s got magic.”

Margo, expressionless, looks the earring over. Then she looks _Quentin_ over. “Okay. He can stay.”

Quentin feels like he maybe just won something.

He’s not sure what to think about the expression on _Eliot’s_ face, though, but before anything else gets said or done, there’s a crash from the hall, followed by--jingling bells?

Julia walks in, her arms full of very familiar decorations from their apartment. Even more surprising is that Penny comes in after her, dragging their Christmas tree, which is probably what made the crashing sound. He looks sort of grumpy.

“Surprise!” Julia exclaims, carrying the things over to a window. She sets it all down as carefully as possible, then turns back with a proud smile. It falters a little when she sees Quentin isn’t alone, but only for a second before she gestures to Penny. “Bring it over here; there’s lots of room.”

Penny makes a few grumbling noises, but does what she says. Everyone else has been silent, and Julia sets her hands on her hips, her smile still in place. 

“So are we gonna get this place looking great for Teddy, or what?”

The answer, as it happens, is a resounding _yes_. Quentin’s touched that Julia talked Penny into helping, and he’s even more touched when Eliot, Margo, and Kady all decide to pitch in. Only a few minutes pass before Quentin thinks this would be better for Teddy if they let him _help_ , not just be surprised by it, so he’s brought in soon enough.

There’s a short setback when Alice comes in, looking slightly horrified that they’re making the castle look Earth-festive against the King’s wishes. She’s apologetic, but tells them they need to stop and take it all down--and before anyone else can say a word, Julia steps forward to take her aside. They talk in hushed voices for a bit, and when Margo says she needs an eavesdropping spell, Kady tells her to mind her own business. Margo raises her eyebrows and exchanges a look with Eliot, but doesn’t respond.

Another minute later, Alice is helping them put up garland. 

“What did you tell her?” Quentin asks quietly, impressed. Julia smiles teasingly, says it’s top secret, and Kady looks even more impressed.

Another member of the--staff? court? Quentin’s not sure how the terms work, here--joins them with Benedict, a man named Rafe. This wouldn’t ordinarily be a big deal, except he also brings a talking sloth named Abigail, and Teddy gets distracted from everything else for a good ten minutes. 

Abigail is not exactly a big help, either. She does look cute with a sparkly bow on her head, though, for the few seconds she tolerates it before--according to Rafe--colorfully insulting Benedict for condescending to her. 

With so many people helping, decorating goes pretty fast. Quentin turns to thank Julia for this, but she and Kady are walking out the door. He makes a mental note to ask about that, but turns back to the Christmas tree. It’s dark out now, and he’s so focused on finding the perfect branches to hang specific ornaments on that it takes a while for him to realize how quiet the space has gotten. 

Because suddenly, he’s the only one left. He thinks about going to find at least Teddy, but honestly everything feels all right. There’s a sense of calm over the whole night, and he’s enjoying the peace. 

Eliot walks back in, therefore destroying said peace, but Quentin doesn’t actually mind. He smiles in greeting, awkwardly asking, “so, um, how’re you feeling about this whole, uh. Christmas thing? I know it can seem kinda overwhelming if you’re not used to it...”

“Oh, I know all about it.” Eliot straightens one of the ornaments a touch, smirking at the confusion on Quentin’s face. “I’ve visited Earth quite a few times. There’s not much I don’t already know; I just wanted to torture my mother the other night.”

Quentin’s not sure if he’s offended or amused. 

“But it was very cute, watching you explain the whole thing,” Eliot adds, and Quentin settles for a feeling somewhere in the middle. There may be a tiny bit of pleased embarrassment mixed in there.

“Um. Okay, so...to make up for that, you wanna help me finish this? You can reach all the top branches and save me from having to stand on some priceless royal chair.”

Somehow, he can already tell that the way Eliot sighs is just for show, so he doesn’t feel bad for demanding help. He leans around to the back of the tree to place a glittery ball and comes back to see Eliot staring at him, an old snowman ornament in hand.

“I could. But what if I do it wrong?”

Bemused, Quentin says, “there’s no _wrong way_ to decorate a Christmas tree.”

Eliot doesn’t look convinced, but he reaches for a branch, and before Quentin can stop himself, he blurts out-- “no, not there!”

Eliot freezes with his hand still outstretched, and he gives Quentin a withering look.

“Shit, sorry, that was, uh--bad timing. It’s just. That particular one kinda always goes next to this one.” He points to a matching snowman near the bottom of the tree, feeling like an idiot. He’s pretty sure Eliot must think he’s one, too. “But I, uh, I already got the rest of the...special ones up. So...just aim high? You’re like ten feet tall.”

“Oh, Quentin,” Eliot says after getting the snowman in the right place. He picks up a candy cane, raises his eyebrows in question, and when Quentin nods, says, “I don’t need to be tall to reach the top.”

“Is...that a metaphor, or...” 

The words trail off. He watches as Eliot holds the cane up, then makes a small gesture with his other hand. The cane rises in the air and nestles itself onto a top branch--one not even much higher than Eliot himself, which means he’s probably just showing off. It works, though; Quentin’s definitely impressed. 

“There are different kinds of magic,” the other man explains, picking through the rest of the ornaments like he’s looking for ones he deems worthy. “Yours seemed to come in handy earlier.”

Quentin can’t resist letting some of his buried excitement go free. “I had no idea I even had any! I, uh, I always kinda...imagined. You know, about stuff like this, like far-away places with magic and stuff people don’t think is real. I read _so many_ books about stuff like this, but I never--I never thought it would actually happen. To _me_. And I definitely never thought I’d ever have _magic_ ; I’m like the most boring person, if, if anyone was gonna be, uh, magical, it should be Julia, I don’t--”

All at once, he realizes he’s rambling, and poor Eliot never asked to be exposed to that. 

“Quentin,” Eliot says calmly, before any apologies can be thrown out. He actually looks amused, but in a kind way, and like he’s _listening_. “Don’t worry about it so much. It sounds like you deserve this no less than anyone else, so maybe you can just...take it as a sign. Maybe you were always interested in this stuff because part of you knew, deep down, that there was something else out there after all.”

He clears his throat as the last ornament floats close to the top. “Plus, I’ve met many people far more boring than you. And...”

Quentin, still surprised into hopeful silence, tries to encourage Eliot to keep going without actually speaking. 

“And if you’d like, I can help you. Learn about your magic. I’ve grown up with it; I’m pretty good at it.” He picks up the star for the very top of the tree, the last thing to go, and offers it to Quentin. Quentin shakes his head; he doesn’t mind if Eliot puts it up, for some reason. “So while you’re here, if you want any advice, or maybe to learn some spells...”

He smiles at Quentin then, which maybe makes something twist in his gut. “I’d be delighted.”

Quentin just kind of - nods again. “Uh-huh.” 

He’s not sure if his dumbfounded reaction is better or worse than another excited ramble, but Eliot doesn’t seem to mind it. He just nods back, once, and instead of using magic again, he stretches onto his toes to set the star in place. The long line of his body is a personal insult to Quentin.

But the tree is done, and so is nearly everything else. Quentin does _not_ remember having this many decorations; maybe Julia stopped at a store? He’s wondering about that when Teddy and Fen come back in. 

“Everything looks so beautiful!” Fen says, and Teddy beams as if he did it all himself. He pulls her over to the tree, only to pout. 

“Hey, where’s the one of me?”

Oh. Quentin knows which Teddy means—a cute bell-shaped ornament holding a picture of Teddy as a baby, both of his parents snuggling him. It wasn’t even in the box with the rest of them, and Quentin is about to panic. There’s no way they _threw it away_ last year after Teddy had a breakdown about never wanting to see it again, right?

Turns out that _is_ right, because Eliot suddenly holds something up, asks, “is this it?” and saves the day. Teddy takes it from him and smiles in thanks...only for his expression to fade into familiar sadness again. 

Evelyn Waugh comes in then. Everyone sort of freezes, looks at her with varying degrees of surprise and horror. For good reason, apparently—the first thing out of her mouth is: “ _What._ The hell. Is going on in here?”

She holds up a hand, continuing before anyone can even begin to explain. “I told you that you could put up one or two things in a place no one would have to see it. This is far too much! Take it all away.”

Alice, who had just been walking up with a sparkly wreath in her arms, stops dead before whirling right around to go back where she came from. 

“Mom, don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?” Eliot asks, with all the unearned poise of someone usually very dramatic. “It’s just a few...”

He trails off as Teddy starts walking towards The High King herself. He’s still clutching the ornament in one hand, which he holds out to the older woman. “You can have this one if you want. You don’t have any pictures of us, do you?”

Evelyn squints down, silent long enough that Quentin thinks he should maybe jump in to save his nephew’s life, but then she speaks. Her voice is quiet as always, but there’s a touch more warmth in it. 

“I do not. That’s always been a regret of mine.” She looks at the offered ornament. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t take it, but she does say, after straightening up again, “I suppose having a few things up doesn’t look too bad. You may keep them.”

And then she smiles, just a little, at Teddy, and leaves. 

Teddy doesn’t seem as amazed at what just happened as everyone else does. He looks down at the ornament again, then tosses it on the floor. His tone is stubborn, but what he says is, “I wanna go to bed,” which is - _not_ something he’s said often. Quentin shoots Julia a helpless look.

“Yeah...” Quentin says. “Yeah, okay. Come on.” He wants to apologize to Eliot for some reason, but keeps quiet, picking up the ornament to put in a pocket on their way out of the room. He’ll hang it on the tree later.

It’s earlier than it should be again, when Quentin wakes up. At least this time it’s not from blaring horns, but necessary trips to the bathroom are just as annoying when one is nice and cozy in bed. After that’s taken care of, he stumbles, half-asleep, down the hall to check on Teddy, who--is not in his room. It’s honestly a testament to how tired Quentin is that he doesn’t immediately freak out more than he actually does.

Wide awake now, he searches the room and ends up at the window of all places. He can spot his nephew in a crowd by now, of course he can, and he absolutely notices a familiar hat on a familiar head, just rounding a corner of the castle outside.

Perhaps it’s a bit of an overreaction for Quentin to go racing outside without putting on a coat or even shoes, but whatever. For all he knows, Teddy could’ve been lured out by some hypnotizing creature!

He makes it around the corner, then skids to a stop at the image before him:

Eliot. 

Eliot, looking just as elegant as ever in outdoor winter wear, holds an archery bow like he’s been doing it his whole life. He’s very clearly showing Teddy how to draw the string, rest it almost against his cheekbone and take a breath before letting go. There’s no arrow yet, so he’s careful to slowly bring the string back to its resting place instead of releasing it all at once. He does this a few times, and Teddy tries to copy the movements with his own smaller bow. Despite the cold creeping up Quentin’s feet to his legs, he feels warm.

He stays where he is, not daring to get any closer, but he watches as Eliot patiently helps Teddy stand correctly, helps him aim and take a shot. The first few times, the arrows don’t make it to the target, but they seem to be enjoying themselves anyway. _Quentin_ sure is.

He manages to catch a few stray words of encouragement and soft teasing from Eliot, but when Teddy starts to ask questions about his father, Quentin thinks _oh_ , and heads back inside.

And not only because he’s pretty sure he’s going to get frostbite if he stays out much longer. 

He doesn’t plan to, but when he climbs back into bed to warm back up, he sleeps another hour or so.

When he sees Teddy at breakfast, Teddy greets him with, “Uncle Eliot let me shoot things!”

If Quentin hadn’t spied on them, he may have been worried. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow at Eliot, who looks stunned for just a second. After a beat, he says sardonically, “first: we did not shoot anything but a target. With a bow and arrow. And second: that was _supposed_ to stay our little secret.”

Obviously, that second part is for Teddy’s benefit; he doesn’t look sorry at all as he shrugs and smiles and continues to eat a pancake that is absolutely _swimming_ in syrup. 

Quentin takes a seat next to Eliot, which somehow feels very brave. 

“Listen,” Eliot starts, lowering his voice. “After...the ornament thing last night, I just thought maybe Teddy would like to know about something his father loved. And since I am fairly spectacular at archery myself, I figured why not be the one to share it.”

He actually looks a little worried, underneath it all, like Quentin might actually be angry he did this. Annoyingly, it just makes the twisty feeling in Quentin’s gut get twistier.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m... I’m really glad. That you shared that with him.” He says it as sincerely as he can, pairs the words with a smile and feels his cheeks go hot. _God_ , can’t he even say a simple sentence without being a mess? 

At least Eliot doesn’t look like he’s about to mock him. He nods. “He’s a good kid.”

Quentin obviously agrees, then sets forth to consume his own pancake, only slightly less drowned than his nephew’s. He thinks about commenting that Josh really is a pretty amazing cook, but before he can, Eliot speaks again.

“So. There’s going to be a party on the 24th. Margo and I are planning it, which means it will be the single most fantastic party _you_ will have ever been to, so be ready for that.” When Quentin gives him a questioning look, he smiles, not quite a smirk. “No, it’s not a Christmas party. Whyever would you think that?”

Part of Quentin wants to ask if this is something they do all the time, or if it’s a sneaky show of support for Teddy being away from home for Christmas. In the end, the answer doesn’t really matter much, so he keeps quiet about it and asks instead, “will you help me with the, uh, magic thing?”

Now that smile _does_ hint closer to a smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It feels like Quentin has known Eliot forever, which is maybe why it’s not at all surprising that Eliot is being weirdly dramatic about the whole lesson thing. He tells Quentin that it will take time to prepare, so they can meet after lunch. Quentin spends the meal next to Julia, who spends it next to Kady; they seem to be getting along suspiciously well. He’d have more questions about that if he wasn’t distracted wondering what Eliot’s planning. 

He’s not _so_ distracted that he doesn’t notice the way Evelyn seems a little less cold today. She even smiles at Teddy once or twice. 

But soon enough, Quentin’s making his way to Eliot’s room and feeling ridiculously nervous. If Eliot’s taking the lesson this seriously, who knows what it might entail. What if there are tests? What if he’s going to be graded? Even worse: what if, suddenly, it’s all gone, and he can’t manage to even _do_ any magic anymore? 

He just _got_ it--he doesn’t want to have already lost it.

His nerves are only slightly lessened by the sight of Eliot, standing in the hall and looking as good as ever. It’s only after the other man gestures him in with a little flourish that Quentin realizes he was so busy being nervous over the magic stuff that he forgot to be nervous about seeing Eliot’s _bedroom_ for the first time.

“Hey. Uh, thanks for doing this,” Quentin says as he tries not to be obvious about looking around the room. The other day, he had thought about asking Eliot how often he stayed at the castle--the room isn’t giving any real answers. It looks lived-in and comfortable, but there’s also an open suitcase in the only empty corner, unpacked. 

Maybe it’s like a - statement piece. That sounds suitably important enough, right?

One thing is absent--the sign of any _preparations_ for this magic lesson. Quentin frowns, turning in a circle as if he may have just missed something obvious.

“Something wrong?” Eliot asks, the innocence in his eyes obviously an act. He sits at the foot of his bed, actually _pats the space_ beside him, and waits.

After a moment’s hesitation, Quentin shuffles forward to obey, ignoring the dumb fluttering in his belly. “Guess I was expecting...I dunno, a blackboard or something,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Mm. Magic’s a bit more _hands-on_.” Before Quentin can say something stupid about how that sounded, Eliot reaches for his hand, takes it between both of his. God, Quentin hopes he can’t feel the way his pulse is definitely starting to race.

“Here. Move this finger like...this.” 

Oh. This is legitimately how magic is taught, apparently? Quentin tries to focus on the lesson, on making his fingers copy the slightly odd movements Eliot slowly puts them through. It’s difficult, though, because--well, because Eliot’s hands are nice. They’re sitting close, as if neither of them have ever heard of personal space, and while Quentin understands his _own_ lack of social skills, he’s pretty sure Eliot doesn’t have the same issues there. Like, at all. 

So that--that has to mean something, right? That this isn’t all in Quentin’s own cruel imagination and maybe Eliot actually asked him in here for reasons that have nothing to do with magic, which--okay, that would be slightly disappointing because he really does want to learn more about that stuff but--

Suddenly literal sparks fly from his fingertips, like a miniature strike of lightning. Most of the worry and anticipation vanishes instantly, replaced with excitement and surprise, and Quentin stares at his hand, eyes wide. His mouth drops into a grin. “Oh my god, I just--I did that!”

He turns to Eliot, still amazed. “I, I did that just now, right? That came from me!”

Eliot’s smirk looks a bit more soft around the edges, like he’s maybe legitimately _proud_ of Quentin for Quentin’s sake. “You did.”

“You helped,” Quentin adds in a hurry, not wanting to be ungrateful. He’s the total opposite of ungrateful, something _more_ than grateful alone. “I would’ve never known how to do anything like that without you--what else can you...”

He trails off, noticing two things at once: his hand is still more or less being held in Eliot’s, and Eliot is using his free one to very gently tuck Quentin’s hair behind an ear. It’s not an unfamiliar gesture--Julia and various others have done it throughout the years--but it lacks any of the familial vibe it usually carries. 

“You’re obviously a natural,” Eliot says, possibly full of shit, but Quentin doesn’t care much at the moment. He chooses to respond by leaning in and kissing Eliot with zero warning. It’s too short to really feel like anything, it’s a little clumsy in the execution, and it’s just enough to make him want to do it again immediately. 

But he holds off, tries for a slightly apologetic smile, in case this _was_ all in his head and Eliot now hates him. But Eliot looks...like he just got a much _better_ kiss than the one Quentin actually gave him. Eyes hooded, his own tiny smile in place, he moves closer, curves the palm of a hand around the back of Quentin’s neck just firmly enough. 

That makes it really easy to meet Eliot halfway. And then they’re kissing, both of them hungry for it in a way that makes Quentin’s insides melt a little. He _knew_ he wasn’t imagining things between them. 

Eliot’s hair is softer than it looks; his lips are even softer still. Quentin’s pretty interested in cataloguing the rest of him, too, but that seems like it may be a bit over-eager. It’s possible he’s wrong about that, because Eliot’s long, literally-magical fingers end up resting perfectly over Quentin’s thigh, and that feels like his cue to just - go ahead and climb right into Eliot’s lap. 

And Eliot--Eliot gives the most delightful little noise, like maybe he’s surprised but so happy to spread both palms between Quentin’s shoulder blades and smooth them lower. Quentin presses closer, partly because of that touch and partly just because he _wants_ to; he wants to forget everything else and just enjoy being with someone he likes, someone that likes him back. 

It’s been awhile, but he’s not thinking about that.

He breaks away, not much but enough that it’s easier to breathe. His own fingers pluck at the top of Eliot’s vest. “Hey, so, um. Can we--”

The door, which really should’ve been locked if Eliot had been planning for _any of this_ to happen, swings open, revealing Margo looking incredibly amused. Maybe slightly impressed as well, but Quentin’s in no real position to notice such things when he’s throwing himself across the bed.

“Eliot.” Margo barely spares Quentin a glance, but he just knows she’s judging him. He also just _knows_ she’s lying when she continues, “sorry to interrupt, but decisions need to be made for the party. Put away your boner and let’s go.”

Well. She’s probably not lying about the party, but definitely the part about being sorry.

Eliot gives her a frustrated look, then gives Quentin an apologetic one. He waves it away with the arm not hugging a pillow over his lap. 

“Don’t worry about it, go. I, uh. I should see what Julia’s up to anyway.”

Teddy, too, but he’s a little worried mentioning his nephew will cause him to appear out of nowhere to be traumatized. 

Margo’s face briefly terrifies Quentin into wondering if she can read his mind, but what she says is, “if you go looking for her, you should probably knock on the doors first.”

“The way you should’ve done?” Eliot asks rhetorically, already standing and straightening himself up. He drops a kiss to the top of Margo’s head, then starts to herd her out of the room. Before he actually leaves, he turns back and asks, “another lesson later?”

Quentin smiles.

“Okay, _why_ are you so smiley?” 

It’s the next day. Even though Quentin hasn’t seen Eliot since Margo stole him away, he’s still in such a good mood that apparently Julia is very suspicious. The rarity of days like this is almost enough to snap him right out of it, but luckily, his positivity prevails. 

Alice is with them, _technically_ in an official capacity but mostly just sitting and joining them for tea. She’s gotten much friendlier since decorating the other day, and Quentin’s enjoyed rambling about books with her. He’s letting her borrow a couple of the ones he brought with him.

Now she says, “probably the same reason Eliot seems happier than usual.”

Julia looks at Quentin pointedly, waiting. 

“What? Can’t I make friends?” 

“Q, I know it’s been awhile, but you don’t usually make friends by being naked together,” Julia says, looking pleased when Alice snorts.

“Oh my god--we haven’t-- _why_ \--shut up!” Quentin isn’t even lying about that, which makes this situation both dumber and unfair. If he’s going to be made fun of, he really should’ve been able to reap the benefits first. “Besides, isn’t that--isn’t that how you and Kady bond as friends?”

So _there_. 

His suspicions about those two seem to get mostly confirmed by the way Julia ducks her head, trying to hide an almost-giddy little smile. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says, trying to channel some of Eliot’s confidence as he gets to his feet. “Now. I have to find _my friend_ to ask about another magic lesson.”

As he walks out of the room, he’s almost able to count down from five for Julia’s response:

“Make sure you have condoms!” 

He holds up his middle finger and keeps going. 

His mood is still considerably bright as he makes his way through the winding hallways; he’s starting to get used to the castle’s layout and only has to double-back once. Teddy, of course, seems to have figured it out immediately, which may be why it’s so hard to track that kid down sometimes.

Just as it’s hard to track Eliot down right now, apparently. The problem with this is that the longer it takes, the more Quentin’s cheerfulness starts to fade. 

He hasn’t seen or talked to Eliot since the day before, not even for meals. Logic dictates that he’s most likely been with Margo, going over whatever it is they go over when planning parties, but Quentin’s brain seems to have missed playing tricks on him and is now working double-time to come up with the most self-pitying explanations. Maybe Eliot’s avoiding him now. Regretting what they did.

 _Or_ maybe it’s just the party planning. Jesus, he has got to get a grip.

A distraction might help, too. He’s passing a grandfather clock when he notices it’s not ticking. It’s clearly old, possibly an heirloom, and the top is carved into the shape of two rams’ heads. It seems like an odd choice. But that’s not the point--the point is that it’s _not working_ , and supposedly, Quentin is all right at fixing things. He did it all the time at his job, the non-magical way, except--

Now that he thinks about it, _was_ it non-magical? Maybe people can do magic without realizing it--maybe his own sister could and just never knew, which would mean her husband wouldn’t have known, either. Maybe the banishment never had to even happen and all that pain was for _nothing_.

Quentin’s hands are shaking a little, but he tries to focus on making the clock work again. It gets easier when he touches the cool surface of the wood; it’s almost like a living thing, something he can sort of just - wake up, and make whole. Make it as it was. 

The ticking starts, loud in the long hallway.

The range of emotions he’s just been through make it sort of ridiculous, but he sort of feels like crying. Mostly in a good way.

Then he hears familiar voices coming from a door just a bit further down the hall. Eliot! He can tell Eliot what he just did!

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop any more than he had the first time. 

“-- _have_ to invite him? Bambi, he’s pathetic. You know that and I know that. _Everybody_ knows that, even Fen. She’s too nice to say it, but--”

“Jesus, El, _okay_. I get it. But come on, you know he has to be invited. He’s family; someone would say something if he wasn’t there.”

Quentin’s stomach swoops so sharply he feels lightheaded. 

“ _I_ am not related to him; don’t you dare try to sully my good name with him.”

“Calm your tits, I’m just explaining this shit to you for the fortieth time so you’ll stop whining and we can get on with this!”

There’s a moment of quiet, which means Quentin can hear his own heart pounding pretty perfectly. He thinks he may be sick, especially once Eliot finally adds in a petulant tone--

“Did I mention he’s probably the worst kisser I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing?”

That’s enough. Quentin has to get out of here. It’s as if all of his worst thoughts about himself came to life, given voice through one of the most attractive, attentive, interesting men he’s ever met. Someone he was stupid enough to think _wouldn’t_ regret kissing Quentin and helping Quentin and _knowing_ Quentin. Someone that had actually listened to his rambling and looked on with what he _thought_ was fond amusement, not impatient mockery.

Eliot Waugh was just a good actor. Nothing more, nothing less.

Quentin tries his best, after that, to just. Shut down any emotions concerning Eliot. Hurt, betrayal, lingering lust and wistfulness--all of it, gone.

Well. In theory. In practice, it works at least half the time. 

Give or take.

Some of the others may seem a bit concerned with Quentin’s put-upon cheer, but whatever. He’s not causing any problems. He’s determined to make this a good holiday for Teddy; that was his objective in this whole trip, and it will _remain_ his objective. 

In brighter news, it seems Teddy and his grandmother have been getting closer. Quentin feels a little guilty that he’s apparently missed a milestone--or maybe it’s more like a - a foot-stone? yard-stone?--but in the end, his feelings aren’t important. What’s important is that Teddy and Evelyn are actually side by side at a table and coloring a picture of Rudolph with what look like crayons made out of dried beets? 

There’s a box of _actual_ crayons already on the table.

Okay, why not. 

Elsewhere, most of the staff are readying the rest of the castle for the party. Mostly this seems to consist of fancier, more elegant versions of the Christmas decorations already up; regardless of how much Eliot had insisted the timing was a coincidence, this party sure seems suspiciously holiday-themed. 

But there is no thinking of Eliot anymore.

“Hey, where’s Eliot?”

With a groan, Quentin turns to Penny. He still has no idea if Penny lives in the castle and just _isn’t_ around a lot, or if he has a home somewhere else but _is_ around a lot. The one time he had asked, Penny had scoffed and told him to fuck off.

Instead of giving that same response now, Quentin says, “what makes you think I would know that?”

“Because you’ve basically been thinking of nothing _but_ him for the past two days, stalker. Figured you’d be the expert to ask.” 

Quentin sputters for a brief moment, because what the fuck.

Penny sighs, then says in the most bored voice imaginable, “I’m psychic, yes I can read your mind, no I will not take any questions at this time. Do you know where he is or what.”

Apparently Penny’s telling the truth, because Quentin doesn’t answer in spoken words, but he still sighs again and grumbles something about _dumbass missing host_ s before blipping into nothingness. And _that_ is still something that will never not be amazingly cool.

Quentin looks around for awhile. Everyone seems to be happy, or at least are pretending to be. Tick and Benedict are helping arrange things and trying to sing one of the carols Teddy’s been teaching everyone; they definitely mess up more than half of the lyrics, but they’re enthusiastic and Tick doesn’t seem _too_ angry when Benedict sends a handful of silverware flying in his glee over magical snowmen. 

Teddy himself is still having fun with his grandmother, asking about unicorns. Julia’s probably off with Kady again. And any time Quentin has caught a single glimpse of Eliot or Margo, he’s ducked into a room or behind furniture. 

Quentin’s the weak link. 

No one needs him here. 

He goes up to his room, because he recognizes the direction his feelings are headed and he doesn’t want to be around anyone for that. Maybe he can take a nap and sleep some of it off; maybe he’ll snap out of it and be able to absorb the logical bits of himself that understand that this isn’t the end of the world, even if Eliot’s a jerk and no one else has bothered to include him in anything today. 

Maybe.

Maybe.

When Quentin wakes up--because thankfully, this time a nap was achievable--the sun has almost set. He lies on his bed and thinks. 

Oddly, he does feel a little better, but he also feels...settled. Like the decision he was headed towards two hours ago was the right one, in the end. Not just a depressive flight reflex, but a smart and logical conclusion: he’s going back to New Jersey.

Before the party.

He’ll tell Julia tomorrow. He’s not sure what to do about Teddy; it seems wrong to drag him out of here early, but it seems just as wrong _not_ to. 

He’s packed before it’s time for dinner.

The meal is delicious as always, but Eliot is there tonight. The awkwardness stiffens Quentin’s resolve to leave, and the way he refuses to meet Eliot’s gaze makes it easy to overlook the fact that it means Eliot is _looking at him_ at all.

Honestly, everything passes in a fog, more or less. It’s another familiar feeling, but a welcome one when the alternative is feeling too _much_. It makes it easier to get up the next morning, have breakfast, and then bring Teddy to Julia’s room for a talk.

Neither Teddy nor Julia take the news very well, but not so bad that Quentin can’t work with it.

“You can stay here,” he says for the third time. “I _want_ you to. I promise, it’s okay. Teddy and I will be fine. Or--”

He looks at Teddy, who’s clutching his giraffe and frowning. “Or you can stay with Aunt Julia if you want. I won’t be mad.”

Some time alone at his apartment might actually be just what he needs. So what if all the decorations will be gone because they’re right here in Fillory? That’s all the more reason Teddy should stay if he wants.

“...but you’ll be lonely,” Teddy says, so soft it kind of chips at Quentin’s heart. 

“I’ll miss you,” he starts carefully. “But I won’t be lonely. Don’t worry about me, okay? It’ll only be a few more days and then you’ll come home and you can tell me all about the party.”

“I don’t like this, Q.”

“I know. But you’ll take care of him, right?” He looks at his best friend, knowing exactly what she’ll say. And she huffs a little, looking sad and slightly annoyed, but she says it.

“Of course I will.”

He’s going to stay until dusk, after guests start to arrive, because it’ll be easier for his absence to go unnoticed. Plus, this way he gets to see Julia and Teddy all dressed up, which turns out to be weirdly emotional. Maybe it’s just because he’s literally leaving the _world_ , but he feels small and alone, standing next to them in his hoodie. He hugs them goodbye, smiling shakily.

“And, um. Do me a favor and don’t...tell Eliot I’m gone? At least not until I’m. You know. Gone.”

As a look of recognition begins to cross Julia’s face, Quentin hurriedly kisses her on the cheek, grabs his bag, and dashes away. 

Penny. He needs to find Penny.

That turns out to be easier than he would’ve expected, because all it takes is a couple minutes of repeating Penny’s name in his head--that psychic thing comes in handy!

“ _No_ , it fucking doesn’t. What do you want?” 

Quentin hikes up his bag onto his shoulder and holds out a hand. “I need you to take me home.”

The gravitas he feels in that moment, in that statement, clatters to the floor a second later when Penny snorts. “In case you forgot, I’m not your damn taxi service. I’m not going to Earth at your beck and call, Coldwater, so either get over your little bitchfit or find another Traveller.”

Quentin thinks about pointing out that Penny followed Julia’s whims easily enough, but there’s no point. Pissed off now, he snaps, “fine, I will!”, which isn’t the smoothest way to exit, but whatever. He stomps off, ignoring the way Penny calls after him that there probably _aren’t_ any other Travellers.

It’s tricky, sneaking out of Whitespire and into the darkening night, but he will find a way home no matter what. If nothing else, _portals_ have to exist in worlds of magic, right? 

Scenes From a Party:

Margo and Eliot make a fabulous entrance, as is expected. They somehow manage to combine royalty chic with just enough touches of their own personal styles--not just in their clothing but for the entire party. Nothing is too stuffy _or_ too slutty--which had basically been Margo’s mantra the whole time they were planning.

They get halfway through one lap around, greeting people, before Eliot mentions Quentin.

“Do you see him anywhere? He’d be here, right? Just because he hasn’t spoken to me since we kissed doesn’t mean he’d just - skip the best party of the year. That’d be _ridiculous_.”

“Okay, Eliot? Honey? I’m gonna say this with love, because I can’t punch you while we’re mingling. You are too attached.” She continues before Eliot can interject. “And not just with Quentin. You talk about that kid almost as much, and I’m worried about you.”

“He’s my nephew.”

Now Margo stops in place, so she can keep Eliot’s attention right on her. She’ll use her hands to do it literally if she has to. “I know he is. But you know where I’m going with this. Those two, they aren’t gonna be here forever. They have a home on Earth they gotta get back to, and I just don’t want you to get hurt when that happens. Sooner than you want.”

Eliot doesn’t say anything at first. Then he takes one of her hands, brings it up to kiss the back of it theatrically. “You don’t have to worry about me, Bambi.”

It’s an expert--and familiar--dodge, and she lets it happen for the time being. Now is the time to focus on being hosts, after all.

Alice is not supposed to be out among the guests. Not because she’s not allowed--she just doesn’t like to be. But here she is, uncomfortably edging her way through all the crowds of people and creatures, all to track down one specific person.

“Julia!” 

Julia turns, surprised, and drops Kady’s hand as if expecting to be yelled at for it. Alice rolls her eyes, then Kady rolls her own and grabs Julia’s hand back. Whatever, Alice doesn’t have time for this. 

“I couldn’t find Quentin anywhere so I went up to his room and--and all of his things are gone!” She tries to keep her voice down for the sake of decorum, but she’s honestly more worried than she would’ve thought she’d be, even just a day ago. The first thing she did after checking his room was look for Teddy, who was easy enough to find. 

It’s not clear if that’s a good thing or not.

Julia winces.

Fen _loves_ to be out among the guests. She’s danced with Teddy three times, with Benedict twice, and even once with both Rafe and Abigail--at the same time! 

That sloth is an _impressive_ dancer. 

She’s trying some of Josh’s favorites of the hors d'oeuvres, because he had begged her to report back--though he _may_ have meant he wanted to know how the not-Fen guests were enjoying them--when she notices Julia, Alice, and Kady. They’re being quiet enough, but it’s still pretty obvious they’re arguing. 

“What’s going on?” she asks in a whisper, joining the group. 

They tell her, in slightly confusing overlap, and her first thought is _does Teddy know?_ He hasn’t been abandoned, right?

“No, of course not,” Julia reassures. But she’s quick to turn back to Alice. “It’s too late, anyway. Penny already took him back.”

Fen gazes over Kady’s shoulder. “Well, he’s right there if you wanna ask him about it.”

Penny is already over this party. When he sees the group trying to get his attention, he gets just a little bit _more_ over it.

Okay, so he likes them all enough, individually. But in a fucking _squad_ or whatever like right now? He maybe honestly considers Travelling away for a second.

At least they’re all pretty good at keeping their minds locked up tight. None of them have magic so it must be some kind of natural ability, which is impressive, not that he’d ever tell _them_ so.

When they ask about Coldwater, he _really_ regrets not Travelling.

“For the last fuckin’ time, I’m not a taxi or an Uber or whatever the hell you wanna call it! I didn’t take him anywhere, because I’m sick of you people acting like I’m gonna drop everything to whisk you away wherever you wanna go!”

In the very brief moment of silence that follows, Penny has more regrets.

By the time he’s being dragged out of the castle by four angry women, he wishes he never came to this stupid party.

(A handful of feet into the forest, Fen and Alice realize they should probably _not_ abandon their jobs and go back inside, so it’s just Julia and Kady forcing Penny along, but the point stands.)

Eliot is not looking for Quentin in every corner of every room. Of course he’s not; that would be silly. Just because he stands to attention any time he catches a glimpse of a man with shoulder-length brown hair doesn’t mean a thing, _Margo_.

But no matter how very much he is _not_ looking for Quentin, he jumps at the chance to put all of his attention on Teddy when Teddy comes running up to him. 

“Can we do more _now_?” 

The only reason Eliot knows what the kid is asking is because he hasn’t _stopped_ asking since like five minutes after archery the first time. 

“I’m very sorry, but I will not be leaving the party I have been planning for months so we can shoot arrows in the dark.” No need to confess to anything concerning this party’s timing. He ruffles Teddy’s hair. “Maybe the next one, though.”

Teddy gives a groan that’s dramatic enough to prove he really _is_ related to the Waughs. 

“Didn’t you notice all the candy we set out? Why aren’t you taking advantage of that yet?” He starts to herd Teddy towards the table holding bowls of sweets, casually adding, “also, have you seen your other uncle around, by any chance?”

It’s almost impressive, the way Teddy nearly dives headfirst into a bowl of chocolates. He stuffs his face before actually answering, which means Eliot’s nerves are already thin. “He left.”

“...Excuse me?”

“He went home ‘cause he was sad here. I think. He looked sad.” Suddenly, Teddy’s eyes go round. “Oh no, I wasn’t s’possed to tell you!”

“... _Bambi?!_ ” Eliot feels frozen in place, but thankfully, Margo appears as if summoned. She looks worried, then looks to Teddy and back.

“So he got into the candy and splurged a little. What’s the big deal?”

Eliot spins on his heels and grabs her by the shoulders. She does not look impressed with his dramatics, and while that might ordinarily annoy him, that’s not the point right now. The point is that _these_ dramatics are _sincere_.

“Quentin is _gone_. He went back to Earth and told _no one_ and I _told you_ he regretted it! I didn’t think he regretted it enough to _leave the world_ we’re in, but I suppose at least that means I’m unforgettable, right?” 

He may be getting a little hysterical at the end, there.

“Oh my god, you have got to--Eliot, stop _shaking me_ or I’m gonna have to knee your balls in, get the fuck off!”

Luckily, Eliot still has the instinct to protect his balls, so he forces himself to step back. He curls his arms around himself instead, looking pathetic and hating it but unable to stop. Margo’s glare softens after she makes sure her outfit’s good.

“Okay. So here’s what we’re gonna do. We find Penny, we go get your boy, we come back in time for toasts and some tender screwing. Any questions? Let’s go.”

Quentin can’t believe this is his life. He’s traipsing through the Fillorian wilderness in the middle of the night on _Christmas Eve_ in hopes of finding a random person who will hopefully just happen to have the ability to _teleport_ between worlds. If it weren’t for basically every detail of that thought, he’d be ecstatic right now, just on behalf of his nerdiness.

After getting whapped in the face with more than one dead branch, any geeker joy is long gone.

For a world without Christmas, it sure seems like the entire population is busy tonight. Sure, most of them are probably at Whitespire, but he can’t even seem to find a single talking rabbit! The neighboring town he finally makes it to is pretty empty as well, and he’s just about at the doorstep of a tavern that looks like it was pulled straight out of Snow White’s village when he hears his name.

“Quentin Makepeace Coldwater, don’t take one more step!”

“Your middle name is _Makepeace_?” 

Oh, good, Penny’s here. He and Kady snicker next to each other, but Julia ignores them to jog over to Quentin and take his arm. Quentin looks back longingly at the tavern door.

“I changed my mind. You can’t go.” Julia gives him a tiny, hopeful smile, swinging their hands a little. “I know why you want to leave. But...it’s Christmas. We should be together; Teddy should have you there--it’s his first Christmas without them.”

Quentin winces. “I’m pretty sure he won’t miss me. He’s got you, Fen, all these new friends, and it seems like Evelyn’s warming up to him a-and he’s got, you know, a new uncle and--”

“Jesus, can you stop being pathetic for like a minute?” Penny rolls his eyes, then rolls them again when Quentin opens his mouth to respond. “I’m not dealing with this right now.”

Julia’s still grasping onto Quentin’s hand, so Penny grabs Kady’s arm, slaps his other hand onto Quentin’s shoulder more roughly than he needs to, and they vanish. 

A second later, they’re in the front entrance of the castle. Quentin shoves himself away from the others, stumbling just enough to make him angrier. “That--that is _kidnapping_ , and a total dick move, and--and you didn’t even get my luggage!”

“Penny will go back and get your stuff,” Julia says, cajolingly to him and threateningly to Penny. 

Quentin keeps shaking his head, trying to calm down, trying not to make a scene more than he already has--because _of course_ there are still guests loitering in the entrance, watching them with interest. In the end, he doesn’t say a thing, just pushes himself past everyone and tries to sneak up the stairs. 

“Uncle Q!” 

Naturally, Teddy spots him and comes running. Quentin takes a moment to shove down all of his emotions; he’s no stranger to pretending to be okay on the surface, after all. Besides, it’s nice that Teddy sounds so happy to see him; he turns to his nephew and manages a smile.

“Hey, Ted! Yeah, I...decided to stay.” Somewhere behind Teddy, Eliot and Margo appear, looking beautiful and weirdly stunned. They come closer, and Quentin thinks he needs to get out of here _now_ , so he nods at whatever Teddy just said, ruffling his hair a little. “Yeah, that’s great! So listen, I’m just gonna check on, um, my room. For a second. Okay? I’ll be right back.”

He has to pass Eliot and Margo to get to the stairs. As he does, he snaps under his breath, “don’t worry, I’m not actually coming back.”

There’s a beat before he hears Margo tells Eliot ‘good luck’; then the clacking of her heels on the stone floor signal her departure. Quentin’s already four stairs up when Eliot calls after him. He makes it up three more before Eliot reaches him, a hand at his elbow. 

“Q, what’s going on? Why did you leave?”

Jaw set, Quentin faces Eliot but doesn’t quite meet his gaze. “I was trying to make it easier for everyone, okay? I know...I know you don’t want me here.”

Instead of looking caught out or angry or anything else, Eliot raises an eyebrow and slowly asks, “What...part of kissing you on my bed made you think I didn’t want you here?”

“I don’t know, maybe the part where you said I was the worst kisser you ever had and you didn’t want me at your party!” Quentin snaps, louder than he meant. He still lets his eyes flit over everything except Eliot’s face. “I know, okay, I know I’m not - anything special, but, but you can’t just--”

“ _Quentin_. We can talk about the evils of eavesdropping and how to do it better later, but let me ask you--was this the other day, in the hall? I was with Margo?”

Eliot doesn’t even seem apologetic, which is annoying Quentin even more. He gives a sharp nod.

And now Eliot _smiles_ , like he’s indulging Quentin’s numerous quirks and enjoying it. 

“Oh, Q. That was an unfortunate conversation about an unfortunate cousin of mine. Todd.” He shudders. “You’ll meet him eventually; even I can’t protect you from that. But he is light-years away from _you_. You, I want at _all_ of my parties from now on.”

He steps closer, just one stair lower than Quentin now and therefore only a bit taller. His humor’s gone now, replaced by something more sincere and - vulnerable, maybe. There are many things Quentin could say right now. 

What comes out is: “you kissed your cousin? Like, _kiss_ -kissed?”

As Eliot’s eyebrows go judgey, Quentin’s pretty sure he’s just ruined everything for real this time. He immediately starts to apologize, but Eliot looks amusedly resigned more than anything else, and he responds, “through marriage. _Distantly_ through marriage, and I was punished with the worst hangover I’ve ever had--plus the knowledge that I kissed _Todd_ , which is honestly even worse.”

Now he tugs on Quentin’s hand, clearly trying to lead them back downstairs. 

“So. Come dance with me, Quentin Coldwater. I need to put in another appearance or people will get worried. There’ll be letters.”

Quentin is in no way dressed for a fancy party. He’s pretty sure there are leaves in his hair. And he doesn’t like being in a crowd, especially one that will probably end up staring at him dancing with a prince.

But he laughs, and he squeezes Eliot’s hand, and he follows. 

And okay, maybe it’s not the bravest thing anyone’s ever done, but it feels like a lot, especially after the day he’s had. There’s an awkward moment figuring out where to place his hands, but they get it together and it’s actually sort of fun. 

(Possibly only because it means he gets to stare up at Eliot’s stupidly attractive face, but, well.)

So of course, something has to go wrong as soon as possible. 

Someone midway across the room calls out, “oh, so both Waugh boys have a fetish for Children of Earth, I see! How long until this one gets banished? Shall we start placing our bets?”

A hush falls over the large space, followed quickly by Margo starting to storm her way over. Shockingly, before she can get close enough to do anything, the High King herself steps forward.

“If you insist on being rude to my family and my guests, I’m afraid I’m going to have to suggest you leave. There will be no more banishing here today.” She runs a hand over Teddy’s hair, the softness of the gesture at odds with the steel in her voice. She doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t have to--the guest that spoke looks both angry and mortified before mumbling an insincere apology, and that’s that. 

It takes a moment, but the attention turns away from them and everyone goes back to what they were doing. Quentin notices Margo’s still heading in the direction of the rude guest, so he’s pretty sure _someone’s_ about to be kicked out for real. He turns to face Eliot and tries to look like he's _not_ still reeling from what just happened.

“So, uh. Guess your mom really changed her tune, huh?” 

“Teddy must be a miracle worker,” Eliot says flatly. For a second, his nonchalance seems just as feigned as Quentin's--but then he smiles and the mood shifts. He starts to draw Quentin back into their dance. “Ah, well. Better late than never, so they say.”

“Right, um, about that.” Quentin immediately curses himself for bringing it up, but. “Shouldn’t I...maybe tell people I have magic? They’d get off your back, then, right? And, and your mom would probably be happier, even if she’s okay with it now--theoretically, anyway...”

Somehow, Eliot’s lead into a spin manages to come across as pointed, dramatic. “Don’t be silly. _I_ don’t care what anyone here thinks. You know you’re magic, I know you’re magic. _Margo_ knows you’re magic,” he adds with a small smile, “what else matters?”

Quentin smiles back, but he’s apparently determined to ruin things for himself, because he can’t seem to shut up. “Okay, but - _would_ it matter to you? If...if they were all right, and I didn’t have any magical...stuff?”

It’s a thought he hasn’t had time to even pursue up until now, what with all the avoidance and running away, but there it is. What if Eliot only ever showed interest in him because he’s not a - muggle, basically? What if his memory is faulty and the flirting only started after he fixed Margo’s earring? 

Oh. They’ve stopped dancing. 

Eliot’s giving him a look that’s difficult to describe. It’s sort of concerned, fond, and judgmental all at once? It actually calms Quentin’s nerves a bit, which is nice. 

“...I’m not here to go into detail about my sexual history, at least not before a drinking game or two--but believe me when I say that I could not care less if someone has magic or not. I think it’s great that you have it, because you love it, and I look forward to teaching you more, but...” He steps forward, putting a foot between Quentin’s, and curves a hand around the back of his neck. “I wanted you in my bed since we bumped into each other in the hallway.”

The skin under Eliot’s hand _must_ feel hot to the touch. Quentin sways forward, just a little, and can not even attempt to hide his smile. “Okay, well...you probably waited long enough, huh?”

Eliot’s own smile blossoms just a touch slowly, like the words have to sink in; the meaning behind them, the _intent_. Before Quentin can feel too pleased about catching him off guard, Eliot turns it right around again by kissing him, languid and in front of everyone. It accomplishes what it was probably meant to, which is Quentin pulling away only to immediately head for the hall and the staircase beyond it. 

They stumble into the dark of Eliot’s room, touching each other in all the ways they couldn’t downstairs, around other people. Well, not quite, but they’re getting there; Eliot’s stupid-long body makes it easy for him to reach down and grab Quentin’s ass, while Quentin _tries_ to find his way through all the layers of clothing Eliot’s wearing. The tiny buttons on the vest are seemingly impossible to work with, and the shirt underneath feels so soft and sort of silky that Quentin’s afraid it’ll tear and totally ruin the mood. 

Eliot seems like the kind of guy to have his mood ruined by such things.

He’s also, apparently, fairly patient, because he just chuckles against Quentin’s mouth (which is oddly hot) and takes over the task. And - fine, that’s fine, because as it turns out, getting someone’s pants open is much easier for clumsy fingers, so he goes ahead and does that. When his fingers brush the half-hard bulge underneath, they feel far less clumsy.

By then, they’ve made it to the bed and they sort of topple onto it. Quentin finds himself on his back; he almost _gasps_ at the sight of Eliot slinking his way up over him, eager but completely graceful. There’s a pause as Eliot takes the time to remove his shirt the rest of the way, letting it slide off his shoulders and down his arms--then he looks comically torn for a second before tossing it gently onto a nearby chair. Quentin snickers.

“I hope you appreciate what it means that I am not taking the time to fold that,” Eliot says, frowning with put-upon disapproval. At least, Quentin hopes it’s put-upon; he nods as seriously as possible anyway. Just in case.

Either way, it seems to be good enough for Eliot, who tugs up Quentin’s shirt and sweater now. It feels pointed when Eliot lets them drop right to the floor, and Quentin can’t help but outright laugh this time, shoves his stupid hair out of his face before trying to drag the other man back down, missing his mouth already. 

Eliot’s tongue against Quentin’s has just started reminding him of how talented it can be when it vanishes again. What replaces it are slightly rushed words.

“You should stay.”

Now it’s Quentin’s turn to frown. “Um. What, here? I wasn’t really planning to go any time soon; I’m kinda enjoying myself...” he says lightly, confused until he notices the expression on Eliot’s face--tense, maybe surprised at himself.

Definitely more nervous than he should be, over such a presumably harmless statement. 

“Wait... What exactly are you saying?” And why is he saying it _now_ , when Quentin can feel the heat coming off him through the gap of his undone pants? Shouldn’t this be a conversation for when they’re fully clothed and maybe sitting upright?

It’s fascinating and kind of cute, the way Eliot’s face goes through whatever emotions he’s having before settling on - resolved?

“I think you should stay. In Fillory. And not just because of magic, though I really do think you would miss being able to use it on such a mundane planet like Earth,” he says, nearing the edge of _rambling_ and making Quentin’s eyes go wide, wide, wide. “--But. Yes. You should stay. You and Teddy. I’m sure Kady would love if Julia stayed, too, so.”

The thing is, it’s not the worst idea. Now that Quentin isn’t trying to escape to his--yes, _lonely_ , no longer decorated apartment, he can see it. It’s not as if he has a job to go back to, or even family; they’re all here with him.

He should probably think about this. Definitely longer than just a handful of seconds while his brain is stuck in Horny Mode. At the very least, he _can_ promise one thing.

“I’m...not saying no. And you have no idea how it. How it feels. To hear you say that. I’m not gonna leave any time soon; not your bed _or_ this world.” 

It seems to be the right thing to say, at least for now, because Eliot’s face softens, almost relieved, and he ducks down again. There’s a nip to Quentin’s lower lip, paired with a wriggling below the waist as Eliot finally makes the rest of his clothes go far, far away. Sadly, his mouth also goes away, and Quentin gives a quiet protest.

“I’m going to blow you now, so stop whining,” Eliot says calmly, like the words alone don’t make Quentin that much harder. Trying to be helpful, he lifts his hips, but clearly Eliot has decided to torture him, because that goes ignored in favor of the world’s slowest removal of pants. If he thought Quentin was whining _before_...

By the time Quentin is calling him an asshole in a strained voice, Eliot is smirking far too attractively, but he finally drags every bit of leftover clothing off of both of them and presses that smirk to the inside of Quentin’s thigh. The sigh of pure relief makes Eliot huff a laugh.

For some reason, now is the time Quentin wonders if they actually locked the door, because if Margo walks in again he’s not sure he’ll be able to care. But then Eliot’s lips trail up his dick, and pretty much any thoughts other than _fuckin’ finally_ are vanquished forever. 

Eliot’s soft, soft hair feels just as lovely as before, between Quentin’s fingers. His soft, soft mouth feels twenty times better, between Quentin’s legs. It seems to brush and nibble and lick over every inch that yearns to be touched, and so thoroughly--almost worshipfully--that he starts to consider that maybe this is part of Eliot’s magic. 

“It’s not, but you wouldn’t be the first to think that.”

Okay, apparently Quentin said that out loud. Wonderful. He’d care more if Eliot’s tongue wasn’t now working over the head of his dick and making it pulse salty, followed by his entire mouth finally swallowing him down. And holy shit, that was definitely a literal _swallow_ , because of _course_ this guy would be the best cocksucker Quentin’s ever met. 

From there, he can do nothing but enjoy the ride. If said enjoyment includes a good amount of moans and phrases that just skirt the edge of begging--well, Eliot doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn’t seem to mind any of it, so expertly taking Quentin apart and to the edge over and over as if he could do this for hours, his hands smoothing over skin wherever they can touch before laying to rest over one of Quentin’s and squeezing tight where it’s already fisted in the duvet beneath their bodies. 

They both give in after that--Eliot no longer backs off, and Quentin doesn’t even try to hold off. He comes with a muffled noise, biting back a shout, his shoulders curving off the bed. He holds fast to Eliot’s hand, like he needs it to keep him grounded. It takes a moment for him to settle back, limbs warm and loose, his leg falling off Eliot’s shoulder and--he doesn’t even remember putting it there. The rushing in his ears only fades, letting him tune back in to reality, when Eliot is halfway through a sentence.

“--but there’s a whole loud party downstairs, so next time, don’t hold back.”

And Quentin - starts laughing, pure and delighted, so much of the tension he’s carried around for so long already gone. He’d forgotten what that felt like, to feel so happy and free--he knows, logically, that it’s likely just the post-coital high, but. He also knows from past experience that this feeling has never been a guarantee. It’s got to do with the person he’s with, too.

He twists a little so he can look over at Eliot better, takes in the sight of him, naked and smug and gorgeous, and thinks--okay, don’t hold back. 

Which is how he ends up awkwardly launching himself at Eliot, still panting a little, and pushing him down enough so he can get his lips around Eliot’s dick with zero fanfare. _He_ doesn’t do any teasing, because he figures there’s no way he can pull that off successfully, so: go with what he knows. And what he knows is this--eager, quick, maybe a little desperate for it. 

Maybe a _lot_ desperate for it.

The noise Eliot makes is proof enough that this was the right tactic. Quentin can’t get his mouth as far down either, but that’s just because Eliot’s cock is fuckin’ _huge_ , which is not actually surprising--the guy is more or less the textbook definition of Big Dick Energy. But _oh_ , Quentin enjoys this almost as much as the other way around, anyway; he uses a hand on the part his mouth can’t reach, lets himself get sloppy with it. His jaw is already getting sore, and when there’s a drawn out moan, he’s not sure if it’s from Eliot or himself. 

Eliot seems to keep himself careful; aborted little movements of his hips making it clear he’s holding back. He tugs a bit at Quentin’s hair, then a bit harder when it’s clear that that is abso _lute_ ly welcome, and he sounds amazingly wrecked when he says things like, “fuck, you were made for this, weren’t you?” and “like that, do that again, _Jesus_ \--”

He’s not being particularly quiet, either, so at least he walks the walk. 

Quentin doubles his efforts until Eliot stops forming mostly-full sentences and is just making happy, happy noises. When he chances a glance upwards, Eliot’s face is so blissful, almost dreamy in his smile, as if he’s already come. It’s incredibly endearing, and Quentin pulls off just so he can watch easier, moving his hand faster, harder; slick sound of skin-on-skin almost more obscene than anything else. 

It is absolutely worth it, watching Eliot the second his orgasm hits, like his whole life is just waiting for these moments. Quentin wants to see it again and again, wants to see it in close-up when he’s getting fucked, wants to feel it shape against his neck when he’s inside Eliot. He wants to be able to _miss_ it sometimes, too, because his mouth will be busy on other parts of Eliot’s body, and on those times, listening to it will be just as perfect. 

He’d be worried about the strength of his feelings--his _wants_ \--if Eliot hadn’t basically just asked him to stay forever. 

They kiss some more before lazily trying to clean up a bit. Then they kiss again until they fall asleep, sweaty and sated.

It’s not even dawn when Quentin wakes up, which is annoying until he realizes he’s in Eliot’s room, in Eliot’s bed. He thinks about waking him up with his mouth, but there’s a noise from somewhere far off in the castle, and it startles him into total alertness. 

So he ends up waking Eliot by shaking him instead, which is admittedly less pleasant. 

“El! Wake up! Do people usually wander around here at all hours?”

For a moment, Eliot looks like he might just be grumpy enough to contemplate shoving Quentin off the bed. Eventually he says, voice hoarse, “probably. You want to go look anyway, don’t you.”

A few minutes later, they’re dressed and creeping down the stairs, one of them grumbling more than the other. Quentin heads towards the glow of Christmas lights as if pulled there, though there’s no way he can know where the noise came from.

But in the doorway they stop, because at the tree is a kind-looking man with dark skin, in a familiar red-and-white suit and hat. He straightens up and smiles at them.

After a pause, Eliot gives a little wave. 

Apparently they weren’t the only ones who arose from the clatter, because from behind them comes Teddy’s sleepy voice. 

“Wha’s going on?”

And then Fen’s and Julia’s.

“Teddy, it’s too early--”

“Q, you heard it, too?”

Everyone falls silent when they see the man.

Another moment passes, then the man sets down one last gift and sighs, somehow jovially. “Hello, Teddy. Merry Christmas.”

Then his smile gets a bit more mysterious, and he tells the adults, “say hi to Alice for me,” and just - disappears. 

“Oh my god it was really him!” Teddy squeals, jumping and tugging on both his uncles’ arms. 

Fen sounds confused. “I’m sorry, who...was that?”

Finally, Quentin feels able to breathe again, and he turns to Eliot, face blank. “Santa Claus is _real_?!”

Thankfully, Teddy doesn’t seem to hear him in his excitement to get to the presents. It looks like ninety percent of them are for him, from seemingly every single person in Fillory. There’s no way they’re getting him to wait for everyone else to join them, let alone to have breakfast first, so they all settle in. 

Some of the others trickle in soon enough, and tentatively begin to take part in the unfamiliar-to-them festivities. Everyone seems to enjoy themselves, though, especially (and most importantly) Teddy--so Quentin's taking it as a win.

As Eliot pulls him into his lap under the pretense of freeing space for others to sit, Quentin laughs and looks around at his new and old family and friends. Everything that’s happened recently--from losing his job; to _magic_ ; to meeting Eliot; to this moment in time--it all feels like a dream. Like something out of the books he’s always read and loved, and yearned to live.

And now he _is_.

It is true not all tales have happy endings.

But, well, this isn’t really an ending, is it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [art for betting warmth against the cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830878) by [madman_with_a_warehouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madman_with_a_warehouse/pseuds/madman_with_a_warehouse)




End file.
